EDUCATION  LIBR, 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

Education 

GIFT  OF 

Louise  Farrow  Barr 


A  CATHEDRAL  COURTSHIP,  AND  PENELOPE'S  ENG 
LISH  EXPERIENCES.  Illustrated.  i6mo,  $1.00. 

PENELOPE'S  PROGRESS.  In  unique  Scottish  binding. 
i6mo,  $1.25. 

PENELOPE'S   IRISH    EXPERIENCES.     i6mo.Hi.as. 

PENELOPE'S  EXPERIENCES.  I.  England;  II  Scot 
land.  Holiday  Edition.  With  108  illustrations  by  FRAN 
CIS  E.  BROCK.  2  vols.  i2mo,  $4.00. 

THE  BIRDS'  CHRISTMAS  CAROL.  Illustrated.  Square 
i2mo,  50  cents. 

THE  STORY  OF  PATSY.  Illustrated.  Square  i2mo,  60 
cents. 

A  SUMMER  IN  A  CANON.  A  California  Story.  Illus 
trated.  i6mo,  $1.25. 

TIMOTHY'S  QUEST.  A  Story  for  Anybody,  Young  or 
Old,  who  cares  to  read  it.  i6mo,  $1.00. 

THE  SAME.  Holiday  Edition.  Illustrated.  Crown  8vo, 
#1-50. 

POLLY  OLIVER'S   PROBLEM.     Illustrated.     i6mo,  $1.00. 

THE  SAME.     In  Riverside  School  Library.     60  cents,  net. 

THE  VILLAGE  WATCH-TOWER.      j6mo,  Ji.oo. 

MARM    LISA.     i6mo,  $1.00. 

NINE  LOVE  SONGS  AND  A  CAROL  Music  by  Mrs. 
WIGGIN.  Words  by  HERRICK,  SILL,  and  others.  "Square 
8vo,  $1.25. 


tn  anU 


THE  STORY  HOUR.     A  Book  for  the  Home  and  Kinder 

garten.     By  Mrs.   WIGGIN  and  NORA  A.  SMITH.     Illus 

trated.     i6mo,  $1.00. 
CHILDREN'S    RIGHTS.     By  Mrs.  WIGGIN  and   NORA  A. 

SMITH.     A  Book  of  Nursery  Logic.     i6mo,  £1.00. 
THE    REPUBLIC    OF    CHILDHOOD.      By    Mrs.    WIGGIN 

and   NORA   A.   SMITH.      In  three   volumes,   each,   i6mo, 

I.    FROEBEL'S   GIFTS. 
II.    FROEBEL'S   OCCUPATIONS. 
III.    KINDERGARTEN   PRINCIPLES  AND   PRACTICE. 

HOUGHTON,   MIFFLIN  &   CO. 

BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 


PENELOPE'S   IRISH 
EXPERIENCES 


BY 


KATE  DOUGLAS  WIGGIN 


BOSTON    AND    NEW    YORK 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY 
ftilicrsi&c  fDrcss,  Cambribge 
1901 


COPYRIGHT,    1900   AND    igoi,    BY    HOUGHTON,   MIFFLIN    &   CO 

COPYRIGHT,    IQOI,    BY    KATE   DOUGLAS   RIGGS 

ALL    RIGHTS   RESERVED. 


Education 
Add'* 
GIFT 


EDUC. 
LIBRARY 


TO   MY  FIRST   IRISH   FRIEND 
JANE   BARLOW 


140 


New  York,  March  25,  igoi 


276 


CONTENTS 


PART   FIRST:   LEINSTER 

I.    WE    EMULATE   THE    ROLLO    BOOKS     ...  I 

II.  IRISH  ITINERARIES 9 

III.  WE  SIGHT  A  DERELICT 16 

IV.  ENTER  BENELLA  DUSENBERRY    ...  27 
V.  THE  WEARING  OF  THE  GREEN       ...  37 

VI.  DUBLIN,  THEN  AND  Now     ....  46 

PART   SECOND:    MUNSTER 

VII.  A  TOUR  AND  A  DETOUR  .        .        ...        -57 

VIII.   ROMANCE  AND  REALITY        ....  66 

IX.  THE  LIGHT  OF  OTHER  DAYS  ....  76 

X.  THE  BELLES  OF  SHANDON    ....  86 

XI.  "THE  RALE  THING" 96 

XII.  LIFE  AT  KNOCKARNEY  HOUSE     .        .        .  106 

XIII.  "O!  THE  SOUND  OF  THE  KERRY  DANCING''  .  116 

XIV.  MRS.  MULLARKEY'S  ILIGANT  LOCKS    .        .  124 
XV.    PENELOPE  WEAVES  A  WEB       .        .        .        .135 

XVI.  SALEMINA  HAS  HER  CHANCE        ...  145 

PART    THIRD:  ULSTER 

XVII.   THE  GLENS  OF  ANTRIM    .        .        .        .        .157 

XVIII.  LIMAVADY  LOVE-LETTERS     ....  168 

XIX.  "  IN  OULD  DONEGAL  " 181 

XX.  WE  EVICT  A  TENANT    .        .        .        .  190 

XXI.  LACHRYM.E  HIBERNIC.E 205 

PART   FOURTH : CONNAUGHT 

XXII.   THE  WEEPING  WEST 217 

XXIII.   BEAMS  AND  MOTES    ...                        .  228 


VI 


Contents 


XXIV. 

HUMORS  OF  THE  ROAD         .... 

241 

XXV. 

THE  WEE  FOLK         

252 

PART    FIFTH:  ROYAL  MEATH 

XXVI. 

IRELAND'S  GOLD     

263 

XXVII. 

THE  THREE  CHATELAINES  OF  DEVORGILLA 

274 

XXVIII. 

ROUND  TOWERS  AND  REFLECTIONS 

283 

XXIX. 

AUNT  DAVID'S  GARDEN         .... 

293 

XXX. 

THE  QUEST  OF  THE  FAIR  STRANGERS  . 

300 

XXXI. 

GOOD-BY,  DARK  ROSALEEN  ! 

311 

XXXII. 

"As  THE  SUNFLOWER  TURNS" 

PART   FIRST 


LEINSTER 


PENELOPE'S  IRISH  EXPERIENCES 


PART   FIRST.     LEINSTER 


WE   EMULATE   THE   ROLLO   BOOKS 

"  Sure  a  terrible  time  I  was  out  o'  the  way, 

Over  the  sea,  over  the  sea, 
Till  I  come  to  Ireland  one  sunny  day,  — 

Betther  for  me,  betther  for  me  : 
The  first  time  me  fut  got  the  feel  o'  the  ground 

I  was  strollin'  along  in  an  Irish  city 
That  has  n't  its  aquil  the  world  around, 
For  the  air  that  is  sweet  an'  the  girls  that  are  pretty." 

Moira  CPNeill. 

DUBLIN,  O'Carolan's  Private  Hotel. 

IT  is  the  most  absurd  thing  in  the  world  that 
Salemina,  Francesca,  and  I  should  be  in  Ireland 
together. 

That  any  three  spinsters  should  be  fellow-trav 
elers  is  not  in  itself  extraordinary,  and  so  our 
former  journeyings  in  England  and  Scotland 
could  hardly  be  described  as  eccentric  in  any 
way ;  but  now  that  I  am  a  matron  and  Francesca 
is  shortly  to  be  married,  it  is  odd,  to  say  the  least, 
to  see  us  cosily  ensconced  in  a  private  sitting-room 


2  Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

of  a  Dublin  hotel,  the  table  laid  for  three,  and 
not  a  vestige  of  a  man  anywhere  to  be  seen. 
Where,  one  might  ask,  if  he  knew  the  antecedent 
circumstances,  are  Miss  Hamilton's  American 
spouse  and  Miss  Monroe's  Scottish  lover  ? 

Francesca  had  passed  most  of  the  winter  in 
Scotland.  Her  indulgent  parent  had  given  his 
consent  to  her  marriage  with  a  Scotsman,  but  in 
sisted  that  she  take  a  year  to  make  up  her  mind 
as  to  which  particular  one.  Memories  of  her 
past  flirtations,  divagations,  plans  for  a  life  of 
single  blessedness,  all  conspired  to  make  him  in 
credulous,  and  the  loyal  Salemina,  feeling  some 
responsibility  in  the  matter,  had  elected  to  remain 
by  Francesca's  side  during  the  time  when  her 
affections  were  supposed  to  be  crystallizing  into 
some  permanent  form. 

It  was  natural  enough  that  my  husband  and  I 
should  spend  the  first  summer  of  our  married  life 
abroad,  for  we  had  been  accustomed  to  do  this 
before  we  met,  a  period  that  we  always  allude 
to  as  the  Dark  Ages  ;  but  no  sooner  had  we  ar 
rived  in  Edinburgh,  and  no  sooner  had  my  hus 
band  persuaded  our  two  friends  to  join  us  in  a 
long,  delicious  Irish  holiday,  than  he  was  com 
pelled  to  return  to  America  for  a  month  or  so. 

I  think  you  must  number  among  your  acquaint 
ances  such  a  man  as  Mr.  William  Beresford, 
whose  wife  I  have  the  honor  to  be.  Physically 
the  type  is  vigorous,  or  has  the  appearance  and 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences  3 

gives  the  impression  of  being  vigorous,  because 
it  has  never  the  time  to  be  otherwise,  since  it  is 
always  engaged  in  nursing  its  ailing  or  decrepit 
relatives.  Intellectually  it  is  full  of  vitality;  any 
mind  grows  when  it  is  exercised,  and  the  brain 
that  has  to  settle  all  its  own  affairs  and  all  the 
affairs  of  its  friends  and  acquaintances  could 
never  lack  energy.  Spiritually  it  is  almost  too 
good  for  earth,  and  any  woman  who  lives  in  the 
house  with  it  has  moments  of  despondency  and 
self-chastisement,  in  which  she  fears  that  heaven 
may  prove  all  too  small  to  contain  the  perfect 
being  and  its  unregenerate  family  as  well. 

Financially  it  has  at  least  a  moderate  bank  ac 
count  ;  that  is,  it  is  never  penniless,  indeed  it  can 
never  afford  to  be,  because  it  is  peremptory  that 
it  should  possess  funds  in  order  to  disburse  them 
to  needier  brothers.  There  is  never  an  hour 
when  Mr.  William  Beresford  is  not  signing  notes 
and  bonds  and  drafts  for  less  fortunate  men  ; 
giving  small  loans  just  to  "  help  a  fellow  over  a 
hard  place  ;  "  educating  friends'  children,  start 
ing  them  in  business,' or  securing  appointments 
for  them.  The  widow  and  the  fatherless  have 
worn  such  an  obvious  path  to  his  office  and  resi 
dence  that  no  bereaved  person  could  possibly  lose 
his  way,  and  as  a  matter  of  fact  no  one  of  them 
ever  does.  This  special  journey  of  his  to  Amer 
ica  has  been  made  necessary  because,  first,  his 
cousin's  widow  has  been  defrauded  of  a  large 


Penelope's  Irish  Experiences 


sum  by  her  man  of  business ;  and  second,  his 
college  chum  and  dearest  friend  has  just  died  in 
Chicago  after  appointing  him  executor  of  his 
estate  and  guardian  of  his  only  child.  The  word 
ing  of  the  will  is,  "  as  a  sacred  charge  and  with  full 
power."  Incidentally,  as  it  were,  one  of  his  jun 
ior  partners  has  been  ordered  a  long  sea  voyage, 
and  another  has  to  go  somewhere  for  mud  baths. 
The  junior  partners  were  my  idea,  and  were  sug 
gested  solely  that  their  senior  might  be  left  more 
or  less  free  from  business  care,  but  it  was  impos 
sible  that  Willie  should  have  selected  sound,  ro 
bust  partners  —  his  tastes  do  not  incline  him  in 
the  direction  of  selfish  ease  ;  accordingly  he  chose 
two  delightful,  estimable,  frail  gentlemen  who 
needed  comfortable  incomes  in  conjunction  with 
light  duties. 

I  am  railing  at  my  husband  for  all  this,  but  I 
love  him  for  it  just  the  same,  and  it  shows  why 
the  table  is  laid  for  three. 

"  Salemina,"  I  said,  extending  my  slipper  toe 
to  the  glowing  peat,  which  by  extraordinary  effort 
had  been  brought  up  from  the  hotel  kitchen,  as  a 
bit  of  local  color,  "  it  is  ridiculous  that  we  three 
women  should  be  in  Ireland  together  ;  it 's  the 
sort  of  thing  that  happens  in  a  book,  and  of 
which  we  say  that  it  could  never  occur  in  real 
life.  Three  persons  do  not  spend  successive 
seasons  in  England,  Scotland,  and  Ireland  unless 
they  are  writing  an  Itinerary  of  the  British  Isles. 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences  5 

The  situation  is  possible,  certainly,  but  it  is  n't 
simple,  or  natural,  or  probable.  We  are  behav 
ing  precisely  like  characters  in  fiction,  who,  hav 
ing  been  popular  in  the  first  volume,  are  exploited 
again  and  again  until  their  popularity  wanes. 
We  are  like  the  Trotty  books  or  the  Elsie  Dins- 
more  series.  England  was  our  first  volume,  Scot 
land  our  second,  and  here  we  are,  if  you  please, 
about  to  live  a  third  volume  in  Ireland.  We  fall 
in  love,  we  marry  and  are  given  in  marriage,  we 
promote  and  take  part  in  international  alliances, 
but  when  the  curtain  goes  up  again,  our  accu 
mulations,  acquisitions  —  whatever  you  choose  to 
call  them  —  have  disappeared.  We  are  not  to 
the  superficial  eye  the  spinster-philanthropist,  the 
bride  to  be,  the  wife  of  a  year ;  we  are  "the  same 
old  Salemina,  Francesca,  and  Penelope.  It  is 
so  dramatic  that  my  husband  should  be  called  to 
America  ;  as  a  woman  I  miss  him  and  need  him ; 
as  a  character  I  am  much  better  single.  I  don't 
suppose  publishers  like  married  heroines  any 
more  than  managers  like  married  leading  ladies. 
Then  how  entirely  proper  it  is  that  Ronald  Mac- 
donald  cannot  leave  his  new  parish  in  the  High 
lands.  The  one,  my  husband,  belongs  to  the  first 
volume  ;  Francesca's  lover  to  the  second ;  and 
good  gracious,  Salemina,  don't  you  see  the  in 
ference  ?  " 

"  I  may  be  dull,"  she  replied,  "  but  I  confess  I 
do  not." 


6  Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

"  We  are  three." 

"  Who  is  three  ?  " 

"  That  is  not  good  English,  but  I  repeat  with 
different  emphasis  we  are  three.  I  fell  in  love  in 
England,  Francesca  fell  in  love  in  Scotland  "  — 
And  here  I  paused,  watching  the  blush  mount 
rosily  to  Salemina's  gray  hair  ;  pink  is  very  be 
coming  to  gray,  and  that,  we  always  say,  accounts 
more  satisfactorily  for  Salemina's  frequent  blushes 
than  her  modesty,  which  is  about  of  the  usual 
sort. 

"  Your  argument  is  interesting  and  even  ingen 
ious,"  she  replied,  "  but  I  fail  to  see  my  respon 
sibility.  If  you  persist  in  thinking  of  me  as  a 
character  in  fiction,  I  shall  rebel.  I  am  not  the 
stuff  of  which  heroines  are  made ;  besides,  I 
would  never  appear  in  anything  so  cheap  and 
obvious  as  a  series,  and  the  three-volume  novel 
is  as  much  out  of  fashion  as  the  Rollo  books." 

"  But  we  are  unconscious  heroines,  you  under 
stand,"  I  explained.  "  While  we  were  experien 
cing  our  experiences  we  did  not  notice  them,  but 
they  have  attained  by  degrees  a  sufficient  bulk  so 
that  they  are  visible  to  the  naked  eye.  We  can 
look  back  now  and  perceive  the  path  we  have 
traveled." 

"  It  is  n't  retrospect  I  object  to,  but  anticipa 
tion,"  she  retorted  ;  "  not  history,  but  prophecy. 
It  is  one  thing  to  gaze  sentimentally  at  the  road 
you  have  traveled,  quite  another  to  conjure  up 
impossible  pictures  of  the  future." 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 


Salemina  calls  herself  a  trifle  over  forty,  but  I 
am  not  certain  of  her  age,  and  think  perhaps  that 
she  is  uncertain  herself.  She  has  good  reason 
to  forget  itr  and  so  have  we.  Of  course  she  could 
consult  the  Bible  family  record  daily,  but  if  she 
consulted  her  looking-glass  afterward  the  one  im 
pression  would  always  nullify  the  other.  Her 
hair  is  silvered,  it  is  true,  but  that  is  so  clearly  a 
trick  of  Nature  that  it  makes  her  look  younger 
rather  than  older. 

France§ca  came  into  the  room  just  here.  I  said 
a  moment  ago  that  she  was  the  same  old  Fran- 
cesca,  but  I  was  wrong  ;  she  is  softening,  sweet 
ening,  expanding ;  in  a  word,  blooming.  Not 
only  this,  but  Ronald  Macdonald's  likeness  has 
been  stamped  upon  her  in  some  magical  way,  so 
that,  although  she  has  not  lost  her  own  personal 
ity,  she  seems  to  have  added  a  reflection  of  his. 
In  the  glimpses  of  herself,  her  views,  feelings, 
opinions,  convictions,  which  she  gives  us  in  a  kind 
of  solution,  as  it  were,  there  are  always  traces  of 
Ronald  Macdonald  ;  or,  to  be  more  poetical,  he 
seems  to  have  bent  over  the  crystal  pool,  and  his 
image  is  reflected  there. 

You  remember  in  New  England  they  allude  to 
a  bride  as  "  she  that  was  "  a  so  and  so.  In  my 
private  interviews  with  Salemina  I  now  habitu 
ally  allude  to  Francesca  as  "  she  that  was  a  Mon 
roe  ; "  it  is  so  significant  of  her  present  state  of 
absorption.  Several  times  this  week  I  have  been 


8  Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

obliged  to  inquire,  "  Was  I,  by  any  chance,  as 
absent-minded  and  dull  in  Pettybaw  as  Francesca 
is  under  the  same  circumstances  in  Dublin  ?  " 

"  Quite." 

"  Duller  if  anything." 

These  candid  replies  being  uttered  in  cheerful 
unison  I  change  the  subject,  but  cannot  resist 
telling  them  both  casually  that  the  building  of 
the  Royal  Dublin  Society  is  in  Kildare  Street, 
just  three  minutes'  walk  from  O'Carolan's,  and 
that  I  have  noticed  it  is  for  the  promotion  of 
Husbandry  and  other  useful  arts  and  sciences. 


II 


IRISH    ITINERARIES 

"  And  I  will  make  my  journey,  if  life  and  health  but  stand, 
Unto  that  pleasant  country,  that  fresh  and  fragrant  strand, 
And  leave  your  boasted  braveries,  your  wealth  and  high  com 
mand, 
For  the  fair  hills  of  holy  Ireland." 

Sir  Samuel  Ferguson. 

OUR  mutual  relations  have  changed  little,  not 
withstanding  that  betrothals  and  marriages  have 
intervened,  and  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  Salemina 
has  grown  a  year  younger  ;  a  mysterious  feat  that 
she  has  accomplished  on  each  anniversary  of  her 
birth  since  the  forming  of  our  alliance. 

It  is  many  months  since  we  traveled  together 
in  Scotland,  but  on  entering  this  very  room  in 
Dublin,  the  other  day,  we  proceeded  to  show  our 
several  individualities  as  usual,  —  1  going  to  the 
window  to  see  the  view,  Francesca  consulting  the 
placard  on  the  door  for  hours  of  table  d'hote,  and 
Salemina  walking  to  the  grate  and  lifting  the 
ugly  little  paper  screen  to  say,  "  There  is  a  fire 
laid  ;  how  nice  !  "  As  the  matron  I  have  been 
promoted  to  a  nominal  charge  of  the  traveling 
arrangements.  Therefore,  while  the  others  drive 


io  Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

or  sail,  read  or  write,  I  am  buried  in  Murray's 
Handbook,  or  immersed  in  maps.  When  I  sleep, 
my  dreams  are  spotted,  starred,  notched,  and 
lined  with  hieroglyphics,  circles,  horizontal 
dashes,  long  lines,  and  black  dots, 

oooooooo 


signifying  hotels,  coach  and  rail  routes,  and 
tramways. 

All  this  would  have  been  done  by  Himself  with 
the  greatest  ease  in  the  world.  In  the  humbler 
walks  of  Irish  life  the  head  of  the  house,  if  he 
is  of  the  proper  sort,  is  called  Himself,  and  it  is 
in  the  shadow  of  this  stately  title  that  my  Ulysses 
will  appear  in  this  chronicle. 

I  am  quite  sure  I  do  not  believe  in  the  inferi 
ority  of  woman,  but  I  have  a  feeling  that  a  man 
is  a  trifle  superior  in  practical  affairs.  If  I  am 
in  doubt,  and  there  is  no  husband,  brother,  or 
cousin  near,  from  whom  to  seek  advice,  I  instinc 
tively  ask  the  butler  or  the  coachman  rather  than 
a  female  friend  ;  also,  when  a  female  friend  has 
consulted  the  Bradshaw  in  my  behalf,  I  slip  out 
and  seek  confirmation  from  the  butcher's  boy  or 
the  milkman.  Himself  would  have  laid  out  all 
our  journeying  for  us,  and  we  should  have  gone 
placidly  along  in  well-ordered  paths.  As  it  is, 
we  are  already  pledged  to  do  the  most  absurd  and 


Penelopes  Irish  Experiences  II 

unusual  things,  and  Ireland  bids  fair  to  be  seen 
in  the  most  topsy-turvy,  helter-skelter  fashion  im 
aginable. 

Francesca's  propositions  are  especially  non 
sensical,  being  provocative  of  fruitless  discussion, 
and  adding  absolutely  nothing  to  the  sum  of 
human  intelligence. 

"  Why  not  start  without  any  special  route  in 
view,  and  visit  the  towns  with  which  we  already 
have  familiar  associations?"  she  asked.  "We 
should  have  all  sorts  of  experiences  by  the  way, 
and  be  free  from  the  blighting  influences  of  a 
definite  purpose.  Who  that  has  ever  traveled  fails 
to  call  to  mind  certain  images  when  the  names  of 
cities  come  up  in  general  conversation  ?  If  Bo 
logna,  Brussels,  or  Lima  is  mentioned,  I  think  at 
once  of  sausages,  sprouts,  and  beans,  and  it  gives 
me  a  feeling  of  friendly  intimacy.  I  remember 
Neufchatel  and  Cheddar  by  their  cheeses,  Dork 
ing  and  Cochin  China  by  their  hens,  Whitby  by 
its  jet,  or  York  by  its  hams,  so  that  I  am  never 
wholly  ignorant  of  places  and  their  subtle  asso 
ciations." 

"  That  method  appeals  strongly  to  the  fancy," 
said  Salemina  dryly.  "  What  subtle  associations 
have  you  already  established  in  Ireland  ?  " 

"  Let  me  see,"  she  responded  thoughtfully  ; 
"  the  list  is  not  a  long  one.  Limerick  and  Car- 
rickmacross  for  lace,  Shandon  for  the  bells,  Blar 
ney  and  Donnybrook  for  the  Stone  and  the  Fair, 


12  Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

Kilkenny  for  the  cats,  and  Balbriggan  for  the 
stockings." 

"  You  are  sordid  this  morning,"  reproved  Sa- 
lemina ;  "  it  would  be  better  if  you  remembered 
Limerick  by  the  famous  siege,  and  Balbriggan 
as  the  place  where  King  William  encamped  with 
his  army  after  the  battle  of  the  Boyne." 

"  I  've  studied  the  song  writers  more  than  the 
histories  and  geographies,"  I  said,  "so  I  should 
like  to  go  to  Bray  and  look  up  the  Vicar,  then  to 
Coleraine  to  see  where  Kitty  broke  the  famous 
pitcher  ;  or  to  Tara  where  the  Harp  that  Once, 
or  to  Athlone  where  dwelt  the  Widow  Malone, 
Ochone,  and  so  on  ;  just  start  with  an  armful  of 
Tom  Moore's  poems  and  Lover's  and  Ferguson's, 
and  yes,"  I  added  generously,  "  some  of  the  nice 
moderns,  and  visit  the  scenes  they  've  written 
about." 

"  And  be  disappointed,"  quoth  Francesca  cyn 
ically.  "  Poets  see  everything  by  the  light  that 
never  was  on  sea  or  land  ;  still  I  won't  deny  that 
they  help  the  blind,  and  I  should  rather  like  to 
know  if  there  are  still  any  Nora  Creinas  and 
Sweet  Peggies  and  Pretty  Girls  Milking  their 
Cows." 

"I  am  very  anxious  to  visit  as  many  of  the 
Round  Towers  as  possible,"  said  Salemina. 
"  When  I  was  a  girl  of  seventeen  I  had  a  very 
dear  friend,  a  young  Irishman,  who  has  since  be 
come  a  well-known  antiquary  and  archaeologist. 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences  13 

He  was  a  student,  and  afterwards,  I  think,  a  pro 
fessor  here  in  Trinity  College,  but  I  have  not 
heard  from  him  for  many  years." 

"  Don't  look  him  up,  darling,"  pleaded  Fran- 
cesca.  "  You  are  so  much  our  superior  now  that 
we  positively  must  protect  you  from  all  elevating 
influences." 

"  I  won't  insist  on  the  Round  Towers,"  smiled 
Salemina,  "  and  I  think  Penelope's  idea  a  delight 
ful  one  ;  we  might  add  to  it  a  sort  of  literary  pil 
grimage  to  the  homes  and  haunts  of  Ireland's 
famous  writers." 

"  I  did  n't  know  that  she  had  any,"  interrupted 
Francesca. 

This  is  a  favorite  method  of  conversation  with 
that  spoiled  young  person  ;  it  seems  to  appeal  to 
her  in  three  different  ways  :  she  likes  to  belittle 
herself,  she  likes  to  shock  Salemina,  and  she 
likes  to  have  information  given  her  on  the  spot 
in  some  succinct,  portable,  convenient  form. 

"  Oh,"  she  continued  apologetically,  "  of  course 
there  are  Dean  Swift  and  Thomas  Moore  and 
Charles  Lever." 

"And,"  I  added,  "certain  minor  authors 
named  Goldsmith,  Sterne,  Steele,  and  Samuel 
Lover." 

"  And  Bishop  Berkeley,  and  Brinsley  Sheridan, 
and  Maria  Edgeworth,  and  Father  Prout,"  contin 
ued  Salemina,  "  and  certain  great  speech-makers 
like  Burke  and  Grattan  and  Curran  ;  and  how 


14  Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

delightful  to  visit  all  the  places  connected  with 
Stella  and  Vanessa,  and  the  spot  where  Spenser 
wrote  the  Faerie  Queene." 

"  Nor  own  a  land  on  earth  but  one, 
We  're  Paddies,  and  no  more," 

sang  Francesca.  "You  will  be  telling  me  in  a 
moment  that  Thomas  Carlyle  was  born  in  Ske- 
reenarinka,  and  that  Shakespeare  wrote  Romeo 
and  Juliet  in  Coolagarranoe,"  for  she  had  drawn 
the  guidebook  toward  her  and  made  good  use  of 
it.  "  Let  us  do  the  literary  pilgrimage,  certainly, 
before  we  leave  Ireland,  but  suppose  we  begin  with 
something  less  intellectual.  This  is  the  most  pug 
nacious  map  I  ever  gazed  upon.  All  the  names 
seem  to  begin  or  end  with  kill,  bally,  whack, 
shock,  or  knock  ;  no  wonder  the  Irish  make  good 
soldiers !  Suppose  we  start  with  a  sanguinary 
trip  to  the  Kill  places,  so  that  I  can  tell  any 
timid  Americans  I  meet  in  traveling  that  I  have 
been  to  Kilmacow  and  to  Kilmacthomas,  and  am 
going  to-morrow  to  Kilmore,  and  next  day  to 
Kilumaule." 

"  I  think  that  must  have  been  said  before,"  I 
objected. 

"  It  is  so  obvious  that  it 's  not  unlikely,"  she 
rejoined  ;  "  then  let  us  simply  agree  to  go  after 
wards  to  see  all  the  Bally  places  from  Ballydehob 
on  the  south  to  Ballycastle  or  Ballymoney  on  the 
north,  and  from  Ballynahinch  or  Ballywilliam  on 


Penelopes  Irish  Experiences  15 

the  east  to  Bally vaugh an  or  Ballybunnion  on  the 
west,  and  passing  through,  in  transit, 

Ballyragget, 

Ballysadare, 

Ballybrophy, 

Ballinasloe, 

Ballyhooley, 

Ballycumber, 

Ballyduff, 

Ballynashee, 

Ballywhack. 
Don't  they  all  sound  jolly  and  grotesque  ?  " 

"  They  do  indeed,"  we  agreed,  "  and  the  plan 
is  quite  worthy  of  you  ;  we  can  say  no  more." 

We  had  now  developed  so  many  more  ideas 
than  \ve  could  possibly  use  that  the  labor  of  de 
ciding  among  them  was  the  next  thing  to  be 
done.  Each  of  us  stood  out  boldly  for  her  own 
project,  —  even  Francesca  clinging,  from  sheer 
willfulness,  to  her  worthless  and  absurd  itinera 
ries,  —  until,  in  order  to  bring  the  matter  to  any 
sort  of  decision,  somebody  suggested  that  we  con 
sult  Benella ;  which  reminds  me  that  you  have 
not  yet  the  pleasure  of  Benella's  acquaintance. 


Ill 

WE   SIGHT   A    DERELICT 

"  O  bay  of  Dublin,  my  heart  you  're  troublin', 
Your  beauty  haunts  me  like  a  fever  dream." 

Lady  Dufferin. 

To  perform  the  introduction  properly  I  must 
go  back  a  day  or  two.  We  had  elected  to  cross 
to  Dublin  directly  from  Scotland,  an  easy  night 
journey.  Accordingly  we  embarked  in  a  steamer 
called  the  Prince  or  the  King  of  something  or 
other,  the  name  being  many  degrees  more 
princely  or  kingly  than  the  craft  itself. 

We  had  intended,  too,  to  make  our  own  com 
parison  of  the  bay  of  Dublin  and  the  bay  of 
Naples,  because  every  traveler,  from  Charles 
Lever's  Jack  Hinton  down  to  Thackeray  and  Mr. 
Alfred  Austin,  has  always  made  it  a  point  of 
honor  to  do  so.  We  were  balked  in  our  consci 
entious  endeavor,  because  we  arrived  at  the  North 
Wall  forty  minutes  earlier  than  the  hour  set  by 
the  steamship  company.  It  is  quite  impossible 
for  anything  in  Ireland  to  be  done  strictly  on  the 
minute,  and  in  struggling  not  to  be  hopelessly 
behind  time,  a  "  disthressful  counthry  "  will  occa- 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences  17 

sionally  be  ahead  of  it.  We  had  been  told  that 
we  should  arrive  in  a  drizzling  rain,  and  that  no 
one  but  Lady  Dufferin  had  ever  on  approaching 
Ireland  seen  the  "  sweet  faces  of  the  Wicklow 
mountains  reflected  in  a  smooth  and  silver  sea." 
The  grumblers  were  right  on  this  special  occa 
sion,  although  we  have  proved  them  false  more 
than  once  since. 

I  was  in  a  fever  of  fear  that  Ireland  would  not 
be  as  Irish  as  we  wished  it  to  be.  It  seemed 
probable  that  processions  of  prosperous  alder 
men,  school  directors,  contractors,  mayors,  and 
ward  politicians,  returning  to  their  native  land  to 
see  how  Herself  was  getting  on,  the  crathur, 
might  have  deposited  on  the  soil  successive  lay 
ers  of  Irish- American  virtues,  such  as  punctuality, 
thrift,  and  cleanliness,  until  they  had  quite  ob 
scured  fair  Erin's  peculiar  and  pathetic  charm. 
We  longed  for  the  new  Ireland  as  fervently  as 
any  of  her  own  patriots,  but  we  wished  to  see  the 
old  Ireland  before  it  passed.  There  is  plenty  of 
it  left  (alas !  the  patriots  would  say),  and  Dublin 
was  as  dear  and  as  dirty  as  when  Lady  Morgan 
first  called  it  so,  long  years  ago.  The  boat  was 
met  by  a  crowd  of  ragged  gossoons,  most  of  them 
barefooted,  some  of  them  stockingless  and  in 
men's  shoes,  and  several  of  them  with  flowers  in 
their  unspeakable  hats  and  caps.  There  were  no 
cabs  or  jaunting  cars  because  we  had  not  been 
expected  so  early,  and  the  jarveys  were  in  attend- 


1 8  Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

ance  on  the  Holyhead  steamer.  It  was  while  I 
was  searching  for  a  piece  of  lost  luggage  that  I 
saw  the  stewardess  assisting  a  young  woman  off 
the  gang  plank,  and  leading  her  toward  a  pile  of 
wool  bags  on  the  dock.  She  sank  helplessly  on 
one  of  them,  and  leaned  her  head  on  another. 
As  the  night  had  been  one  calculated  to  disturb 
the  physical  equilibrium  of  a  poor  sailor,  and  the 
breakfast  of  a  character  to  discourage  the  stout 
est  stomach,  I  gave  her  a  careless  thought  of  pity 
and  speedily  forgot  her.  Two  trunks,  a  hold-all, 
a  hatbox,  —  in  which  reposed,  in  solitary  gran 
deur,  Francesca's  picture  hat,  intended  for  the 
further  undoing  of  the  Irish  gentry,  —  a  guitar 
case,  two  bags,  three  umbrellas ;  all  were  safe 
but  Salemina's  large  Vuitton  trunk  and  my  valise, 
which  had  been  last  seen  at  Edinburgh  station. 
Salemina  returned  to  the  boat,  while  Francesca 
and  I  wended  our  way  among  the  heaps  of  lug 
gage,  followed  by  crowds  of  ragamuffins,  who  of 
fered  to  run  for  a  car,  run  for  a  cab,  run  for  a 
porter,  carry  our  luggage  up  the  street  to  the  cab 
stand,  carry  our  wraps,  carry  us,  "  do  any  mortial 
thing  for  a  penny,  melady,  an'  there  is  no  cars 
here,  melady,  God  bless  me  sowl,  and  that  He  be 
good  to  us  all  if  I  'm  tellin'  you  a  word  of  a  lie  !  " 
Entirely  unused  to  this  flow  of  conversation,  we 
were  obliged  to  stop  every  few  seconds  to  recount 
our  luggage  and  try  to  remember  what  we  were 
looking  for.  We  all  met  finally,  and  I  rescued 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences  19 

Salemina  from  the  voluble  thanks  of  an  old  wo 
man  to  whom  she  had  thoughtlessly  given  a  three 
penny  bit.  This  mother  of  a  "  long  wake  family" 
was  wishing  that  Salemina  might  live  to  "  ate  the 
hin  "  that  scratched  over  her  grave,  and  invoking 
many  other  uncommon  and  picturesque  blessings, 
but  we  were  obliged  to  ask  her  to  desist  and  let 
us  attend  to  our  own  business. 

"  Will  I  clane  the  whole  of  thim  off  for  you  for 
a  penny,  your  ladyship's  honor  ma'am  ?  "  asked  the 
oldest  of  the  ragamuffins,  and  I  gladly  assented 
to  the  novel  proposition.  He  did  it,  too,  and 
there  seemed  to  be  no  hurt  feelings  in  the  com 
pany. 

Just  then  there  was  a  rattle  of  cabs  and  side 
cars,  and  our  self-constituted  major-domo  en 
gaged  two  of  them  to  await  our  pleasure.  At  the 
same  moment  our  eyes  lighted  upon  Salemina's 
huge  Vuitton,  which  had  been  dragged  behind 
the  pile  of  wool  sacks.  It  was  no  wonder  it  had 
escaped  our  notice,  for  it  was  mostly  covered  by 
the  person  of  the  seasick  maiden  whom  I  had 
seen  on  the  arm  of  the  stewardess.  She  was 
seated  on  it,  exhaustion  in  every  line  of  her  fig 
ure,  her  head  upon  my  traveling  bag,  her  feet 
dangling  over  the  edge  until  they  just  touched 
the  "  S.  P.,  Salem,  Mass.,  U.  S.  A."  painted  in 
large  red  letters  on  the  end.  She  was  too  ill  to 
respond  to  our  questions,  but  there  was  no  mis 
taking  her  nationality.  Her  dress,  hat,  shoes, 


2O  Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

gloves,  face,  figure  were  American.  We  sent  for 
the  stewardess,  who  told  us  that  she  had  arrived 
in  Glasgow  on  the  day  previous,  and  had  been 
very  ill  all  the  way  coming  from  Boston. 

"  Boston  !  "  exclaimed  Salemina.  "  Do  you  say 
she  is  from  Boston,  poor  thing  ?  " 

("  I  did  n't  know  that  a  person  living  in  Boston 
could  ever,  under  any  circumstances,  be  a  'poor 
thing,'  "  whispered  Francesca  to  me.) 

"  She  was  not  fit  to  be  crossing  last  night,  and 
the  doctor  on  the  American  ship  told  her  so,  and 
advised  her  to  stay  in  bed  for  three  days  before 
coming  to  Ireland ;  but  it  seems  as  if  she  were 
determined  to  get  to  her  journey's  end." 

"  We  must  have  our  trunk,"  I  interposed. 
"  Can't  we  move  her  carefully  over  to  the  wool 
sacks,  and  won't  you  stay  with  her  until  her 
friends  come  ? " 

"  She  has  no  friends  in  this  country,  ma'am. 
She  's  just  traveling  for  pleasure  like." 

"  Good  gracious  !  what  a  position  for  her  to  be 
in,"  said  Salemina.  "  Can't  you  take  her  back  to 
the  steamer  and  put  her  to  bed  ?  " 

"  I  could  ask  the  captain,  certainly,  miss, 
though  of  course  it 's  something  we  never  do,  and 
besides,  we  have  to  set  the  ship  to  rights  and  go 
across  again  this  evening." 

"  Ask  her  what  hotel  she  is  going  to,  Salemina/"' 
we  suggested,  "  and  let  us  drop  her  there,  and 
put  her  in  charge  of  the  housekeeper  ;  of  course 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences  21 

if  it  is  only  seasickness  she  will  be  all  right  in  the 
morning." 

The  girl's  eyes  were  closed,  but  she  opened 
them  languidly  as  Salemina  chafed  her  cold  hands, 
and  asked  gently  il  we  could  not  drive  her  to  a 
hotel. 

"  Is  —  this  —  your  —  baggage  ?  "  she  whis 
pered. 

"  It  is,"  Salemina  answered,  somewhat  puz 
zled. 

"  Then  don't  —  leave  me  here,  I  am  from 
Salem  —  myself,"  whereupon  without  any  more 
warning  she  promptly  fainted  away  on  the  trunk. 

The  situation  was  becoming  embarrassing. 
The  assemblage  grew  larger,  and  a  more  inter 
ested  and  sympathetic  audience  I  never  saw.  To 
an  Irish  crowd,  always  warm-hearted  and  kindly, 
willing  to  take  any  trouble  for  friend  or  stranger, 
and  with  a  positive  terror  of  loneliness,  or  separa 
tion  from  kith  and  kin,  the  helpless  creature  ap 
pealed  in  every  way.  One  and  another  joined 
the  group  with  a  "  Holy  Biddy !  what 's  this  at 
all  ?  " 

"  The  saints  presarve  us,  is  it  dyin'  she  is  ? " 

"  Look  at  the  iligant  duds  she  do  be  wearin'." 

"  Call  the  docthor  is  it  ?  God  give  you  sinse  ! 
Sure  the  docthors  is  only  a  flock  of  omadhauns." 

"  Is  it  your  daughter  she  is,  ma'am  ? "  (This  to 
Salemina.) 

"  She  's  from  Ameriky,  the  poor  mischancy 
crathur." 


22  Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

"  Give  her  a  toothful  of  whiskey,  your  ladyship. 
Sure  it 's  nayther  bite  nor  sup  she 's  had  the 
morn,  and  belike  she  's  as  impty  as  a  quarry- 
hole." 

When  this  last  expression  from  the  mother  of 
the  long  weak  family  fell  upon  Salemina's  cul 
tured  ears  she  looked  desperate. 

We  could  not  leave  a  fellow  countrywoman, 
least  of  all  could  Salemina  forsake  a  fellow  citi 
zen,  in  such  a  hapless  plight. 

"  Take  one  cab  with  Francesca  and  the  lug 
gage,  Penelope,"  she  whispered.  "  I  will  bring 
the  girl  with  me,  put  her  to  bed,  find  her  friends, 
and  see  that  she  starts  on  her  journey  safely  ;  it 's 
very  awkward,  but  there  's  nothing  else  to  be 
done." 

So  we  departed  in  a  chorus  of  popular  ap 
proval. 

"  Sure  it 's  you  that  have  the  good  hearts  !  " 

"  May  the  heavens  be  your  bed  !  " 

"  May  the  journey  thrive  wid  her,  the  crathur  !  " 

Francesca  and  I  arrived  first  at  the  hotel  where 
our  rooms  were  already  engaged,  and  there 
proved  to  be  a  comfortable  little  dressing,  or 
maid's,  room  just  off  Salemina's. 

Here  the  Derelict  was  presently  ensconced,  and 
there  she  lay,  in  a  sort  of  profound  exhaustion, 
all  day,  without  once  absolutely  regaining  her 
consciousness.  Instead  of  visiting  the  National 
Gallery  as  I  had  intended,  I  returned  to  the 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences  23 

dock  to  see  if  I  could  find  the  girl's  luggage,  or 
get  any  further  information  from  the  stewardess 
before  she  left  Dublin. 

"  I  '11  send  the  doctor  at  once,  but  we  must 
learn  all  possible  particulars  now,"  I  said  mali 
ciously  to  poor  Salemina.  "  It  would  be  so  awk 
ward,  you  know,  if  you  should  be  arrested  for 
abduction." 

The  doctor  thought  it  was  probably  nothing 
more  than  the  complete  prostration  that  might 
follow  eight  days  of  seasickness,  but  the  patient's 
heart  was  certainly  a  little  weak,  and  she  needed 
the  utmost  quiet.  His  fee  was  a  guinea  for  the 
first  visit,  and  he  would  drop  in  again  in  the 
course  of  the  afternoon  to  relieve  our  anxiety. 
We  took  turns  in  watching  by  her  bedside,  but 
the  two  unemployed  ones  lingered  forlornly  near, 
and  had  no  heart  for  sight-seeing.  Francesca 
did,  however,  purchase  opera  tickets  for  the 
evening,  and  secretly  engaged  the  housemaid  to 
act  as  head  nurse  in  our  absence. 

As  we  were  dining  at  seven,  we  heard  a  faint 
voice  in  the  little  room  beyond.  Salemina  left 
her  dinner  and  went  in  to  find  her  charge  slightly 
better.  We  had  been  able  thus  far  only  to  take 
off  her  dress,  shoes,  and  such  garments  as  made 
her  uncomfortable  ;  Salemina  now  managed  to 
slip  on  a  nightdress  and  put  her  under  the  bed 
covers,  returning  then  to  her  cold  mutton  cutlet. 

"  She 's   an   extraordinary   person,"   she  said, 


24  Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

absently  playing  with  her  knife  and  fork.  "  She 
did  n't  ask  me  where  she  was,  or  show  any  inter 
est  in  her  surroundings  ;  perhaps  she  is  still  too 
weak.  She  said  she  was  better,  and  when  I  had 
made  her  ready  for  bed  she  whispered,  *  I  've 
got  to  say  my  prayers.' 

"  '  Say  them  by  all  means,'  I  replied. 

" '  But  I  must  get  up  and  kneel  down,'  she 
said. 

"  I  told  her  she  must  do  nothing  of  the  sort ; 
that  she  was  far  too  ill. 

"  '  But  I  must,'  she  urged.  '  I  never  go  to  bed 
without  saying  my  prayers  on  my  knees.' 

"  I  forbade  her  doing  it ;  she  closed  her  eyes, 
and  I  came  away.  Is  n't  she  quaint  ? " 

At  this  juncture  we  heard  the  thud  of  a  soft  fall 
ing  body,  and  rushing  in  we  found  that  the  Dere 
lict  had  crept  from  her  bed  to  her  knees,  and  had 
probably  not  prayed  more  than  two  minutes 
before  she  fainted  for  the  fifth  or  sixth  time  in 
twenty-four  hours.  Salemina  was  vexed,  angel 
and  philanthropist  though  she  is.  Francesca  and 
I  were  so  helpless  with  laughter  that  we  could 
hardly  lift  the  too  conscientious  maiden  into  bed. 
The  situation  may  have  been  pathetic;  to  the 
truly  pious  mind  it  would  indeed  have  been  in 
describably  touching,  but  for  the  moment  the 
humorous  side  of  it  was  too  much  for  our  self- 
control.  Salemina,  in  rushing  for  stimulants  and 
smelling  salts,  broke  her  only  comfortable  eye- 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences  25 

glasses,  and  this  accident,  coupled  with  her  other 
anxieties  and  responsibilities,  caused  her  to  shed 
tears,  an  occurrence  so  unprecedented  that  Fran- 
cesca  and  I  kissed  and  comforted  her  and  tucked 
her  up  on  the  sofa.  Then  we  sent  for  the  doctor, 
gave  our  opera  tickets  to  the  head  waiter  and 
chambermaid,  and  settled  down  to  a  cheerful 
home  evening,  our  first  in  Ireland. 

"  If  Himself  were  here,  we  should  not  be  in 
this  plight,"  I  sighed. 

"I  don't  know  how  you  can  say  that,"  re 
sponded  Salemina,  with  considerable  spirit. 
"  You  know  perfectly  well  that  if  your  husband 
had  found  a  mother  and  seven  children  helpless 
and  deserted  on  that  dock,  he  would  have 
brought  them  all  to  this  hotel,  and  then  tried  to 
find  the  father  and  grandfather." 

"  And  it 's  not  Salemina's  fault,"  argued  Fran- 
cesca.  "  She  could  n't  help  the  girl  being  born 
in  Salem  ;  not  that  I  believe  that  she  ever  heard 
of  the  place  before  she  saw  it  printed  on  Sale 
mina's  trunk.  I  told  you  it  was  too  big  and  red, 
dear,  but  you  would  n't  listen  !  I  am  the  strong 
est  American  of  the  party,  but  I  confess  that 
U.  S.  A.  in  letters  five  inches  long  is  too  much 
for  my  patriotism." 

"  It  would  not  be  if  you  ever  had  charge  of  the 
luggage,"  retorted  Salemina. 

"And  whatever  you  do,  Francesca,"  I  added 
beseechingly,  "  don't  impugn  the  veracity  of  our 


26  Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

Derelict.  While  we  think  of  ourselves  as  minister 
ing  angels  I  can  endure  anything,  but  if  we  are 
the  dupes  of  an  adventuress,  there  is  nothing 
pretty  about  it.  By  the  way,  I  have  consulted 
the  English  manageress  of  this  hotel,  who  was 
not  particularly  sympathetic.  'Perhaps  you 
should  n't  have  assumed  charge  of  her,  madam,' 
she  said,  '  but  having  done  so,  had  n't  you  better 
see  if  you  can  get  her  into  a  hospital  ?  '  It  is  n't 
a  bad  suggestion,  and  after  a  day  or  two  we  will 
consider  it,  or  I  will  get  a  trained  nurse  to  take 
full  charge  of  her.  I  would  be  at  any  reasonable 
expense  rather  than  have  our  pleasure  interfered 
with  any  further." 

It  still  seems  odd  to  make  a  proposition  of 
this  kind.  In  former  times,  Francesca  was  the 
Croesus  of  the  party,  Salemina  came  second,  and 
I  last,  with  a  most  precarious  income.  Now  I  am 
the  wealthy  one,  Francesca  is  reduced  to  the  sec 
ond  place,  and  Salemina  to  the  third,  but  it 
makes  no  difference  whatever,  either  in  our  rela 
tions,  our  arrangements,  or,  for  that  matter,  in 
our  expenditures. 


IV 


ENTER  BENELLA  DUSENBERRY 

"  A  fair  maiden  wander'd 
All  wearied  and  lone, 
Sighing,  '  I  'm  a  poor  stranger, 

And  far  from  my  own.' 
We  invited  her  in, 
We  offered  her  share 
Of  our  humble  cottage 
And  our  humble  fare  ; 
We  bade  her  take  comfort, 
No  longer  to  moan, 
And  made  the  poor  stranger 
Be  one  of  our  own.'' 

Old  Irish  Song. 

THE  next  morning  dawned  as  lovely  as  if  it  had 
slipped  out  of  Paradise,  and  as  for  freshness,  and 
emerald  sheen,  the  world  from  our  windows  was 
like  a  lettuce  leaf  just  washed  in  dew.  The  win 
dows  of  my  bedroom  looked  out  pleasantly  on 
St.  Stephen's  Green,  commonly  called  Stephen's 
Green,  or,  by  citizens  of  the  baser  sort,  Stephens's 
Green.  It  is  a  good  English  mile  in  circumfer 
ence,  and  many  are  the  changes  in  it  from  the 
time  it  was  first  laid  out,  in  1670,  to  the  present 
day,  when  it  was  made  into  a  public  park  by 
Lord  Ardilaun. 


28  Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

When  the  celebrated  Mrs.  Delany,  then  Mrs. 
Pendarves,  first  saw  it,  the  centre  was  a  swamp, 
where  in  winter  a  quantity  of  snipe  congregated, 
and  Harris  in  his  "  History  of  Dublin  "  alludes  to 
the  presence  of  snipe  and  swamp  as  an  agreeable 
and  uncommon  circumstance  not  to  be  met  with 
perhaps  in  any  other  great  city  in  the  world. 

A  double  row  of  spreading  lime  trees  bordered 
its  four  sides,  one  of  which,  known  as  Beaux' 
Walk,  was  a  favorite  lounge  for  fashionable  idlers. 
Here  stood  Bishop  Clayton's  residence,  a  large 
building  with  a  front  like  Devonshire  House  in 
Piccadilly,  so  writes  Mrs.  Delany.  It  was  splen 
didly  furnished,  and  the  bishop  lived  in  a  style 
which  proves  that  Irish  prelates  of  the  day  were 
not  all  given  to  self-abnegation  and  mortification 
of  the  flesh. 

A  long  line  of  vehicles,  outside  cars  and  cabs, 
some  of  them  battered  and  shaky,  others  suffi 
ciently  well  looking,  was  gathering  on  two  sides 
of  the  green,  for  Dublin,  you  know,  is  "  the  car- 
drivingest  city  in  the  world."  Francesca  and  I 
had  our  first  experience  yesterday  in  the  intervals 
of  nursing,  driving  to  Dublin  Castle,  Trinity  Col 
lege,  the  Four  Courts,  and  Grafton  Street  (the 
Regent  Street  of  Dublin).  It  is  easy  to  tell  the 
stranger,  stiff,  decorous,  terrified,  clutching  the 
rail  with  one  or  both  hands,  but  we  took  for  our 
model  a  pretty  Irish  girl,  who  looked  like  no 
thing  so  much  as  a  bird  on  a  swaying  bough.  It 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences  29 

is  no  longer  called  the  "jaunting,"  but  the  out 
side  car,  and  there  is  another  charming  word  lost 
to  the  world.  There  was  formerly  an  inside  car 
too,  but  it  is  almost  unknown  in  Dublin,  though 
still  found  in  some  of  the  smaller  towns.  An  out 
side  car  has  its  wheels  practically  inside  the  body 
of  the  vehicle,  but  an  inside  car  carries  its 
wheels  outside.  This  definition  was  given  us  by 
an  Irish  driver,  but  lucid  definition  is  not  perhaps 
an  Irishman's  strong  point.  It  is  clearer  to  say 
that  the  passenger  sits  outside  of  the  wheels  on 
the  one,  inside  on  the  other.  There  are  seats  for 
two  persons  over  each  of  the  two  wheels,  and  a 
dickey  for  the  driver  in  front,  should  he  need  to 
use  it.  Ordinarily  he  sits  on  one  side,  driving, 
while  you  perch  on  the  other,  and  thus  you  jog 
along,  each  seeing  your  own  side  of  the  road,  and 
discussing  the  topics  of  the  day  across  the  "  well," 
as  the  covered-in  centre  of  the  car  is  called. 
There  are  those  who  do  not  agree  with  its  cham 
pions,  who  call  it  "  Cupid's  own  conveyance  ; " 
they  find  the  seat  too  small  for  two,  yet  feel  it  a 
bit  unsociable  when  the  companion  occupies  the 
opposite  side.  To  me  a  modern  Dublin  car  with 
rubber  tires  and  a  good  Irish  horse  is  the  jolliest 
vehicle  in  the  universe ;  there  is  a  liveliness, 
an  irresponsible  gayety,  in  the  spring  and  sway 
of  it ;  an  ease  in  the  half-lounging  position  against 
the  cushions,  a  unique  charm  in  "  traveling  edge 
ways  "  with  your  feet  planted  on  the  step.  You 


3O  Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

must  not  be  afraid  of  a  car  if  you  want  to  enjoy 
it.  Hold  the  rail  if  you  must,  at  first,  though  it's 
just  as  bad  form  as  clinging  to  your  horse's  mane 
while  riding  in  the  Row.  Your  driver  will  take 
all  the  chances  that  a  crowded  thoroughfare  gives 
him ;  he  would  scorn  to  leave  more  than  an  inch 
between  your  feet  and  a  Guinness'  beer  dray ;  he 
will  shake  your  flounces  and  furbelows  in  the 
very  windows  of  the  passing  trams,  but  he  is  be 
loved  by  the  gods,  and  nothing  ever  happens  to 
him. 

The  morning  was  enchanting,  as  I  said,  and, 
above  all,  the  Derelict  was  better. 

"  It 's  a  grand  night's  slape  I  had  wid  her  in- 
tirely,"  said  the  housemaid ;  "  an'  sure  it 's  not 
to-day  she  '11  be  dyin'  on  you  at  all,  at  all ;  she 's 
had  the  white  drink  in  the  bowl  twyst,  and  a 
grand  cup  o'  tay  on  the  top  o'  that." 

Salemina  fortified  herself  with  breakfast  before 
she  went  in  to  an  interview,  which  we  all  felt  to 
be  important  and  decisive.  The  time  seemed 
endless  to  us,  and  endless  were  our  suppositions. 

"  Perhaps  she  has  had  morning  prayers  and 
fainted  again." 

"  Perhaps  she  has  turned  out  to  be  Salemina's 
long-lost  cousin." 

"  Perhaps  she  is  upbraiding  Salemina  for  kid 
napping  her  when  she  was  insensible." 

"  Perhaps  she  is  relating  her  life  history ;  if  it 
is  a  sad  one,  Salemina  is  adopting  her  legally  at 
this  moment." 


Penelopes  Irish  Experiences  31 

"  Perhaps  she  is  one  of  Mr.  Beresford's  wards, 
and  has  come  over  to  complain  of  somebody's  ill 
treatment." 

Here  Salemina  entered,  looking  flushed  and 
embarrassed.  We  thought  it  a  bad  sign  that  she 
could  not  meet  our  eyes  without  confusion,  but 
I  made  room  for  her  on  the  sofa,  and  Francesca 
drew  her  chair  closer. 

"  She  is  from  Salem,"  began  the  poor  dear  ; 
"  she  has  never  been  out  of  Massachusetts  in  her 
life." 

"  Unfortunate  girl  !  "  exclaimed  Francesca, 
adding  prudently,  as  she  saw  Salemina's  rising 
color,  "  though  of  course  if  one  has  to  reside  in  a 
single  state,  Massachusetts  offers  more  compen 
sations  than  any  other." 

"  She  knows  every  nook  and  corner  in  the 
place,"  continued  Salemina  ;  "  she  has  even  seen 
the  house  where  I  was  born,  and  her  name  is 
Benella  Dusenberry." 

"  Impossible  !  "  cried  Francesca.  "  Dusen 
berry  is  unlikely  enough,  but  who  ever  heard  of 
such  a  name  as  Benella  !  It  sounds  like  a  flavor 
ing  extract." 

"She  came  over  to  see  the  world,  she  says." 

"  Oh  !  then  she  has  money  ?  " 

"  No  —  or  at  least,  yes ;  or  at  least  she  had 
enough  when  she  left  America  to  last  for  two  or 
three  months,  or  until  she  could  earn  something." 

"  Of  course  she  left  her  little  all  in  a  chamois- 


32  Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

skin  bag  under  her  pillow  on  the  steamer,"  sug 
gested  Francesca. 

"  That  is  precisely  what  she  did,"  Salemina 
replied,  with  a  pale  smile.  "  However,  she  was 
so  ill  in  the  steerage  that  she  had  to  pay  twenty- 
five  or  thirty  dollars  extra  to  go  into  the  second 
cabin,  and  this  naturally  reduced  the  amount  of 
her  savings,  though  it  makes  no  difference  since 
she  left  them  all  behind  her,  save  a  few  dollars  in 
her  purse.  She  says  she  is  usually  perfectly  well, 
but  that  she  was  very  tired  when  she  started,  that 
it  was  her  first  sea  voyage,  and  the  passage  was 
unusually  rough." 

"  Where  is  she  going  ? " 

"  I  don't  know ;  I  mean,  she  does  n't  know. 
Her  maternal  grandmother  was  born  in  Trim, 
near  Tara,  in  Meath,  but  she  does  not  think  she 
has  any  relations  over  here.  She  is  entirely 
alone  in  the  world,  and  that  gives  her  a  certain 
sentiment  in  regard  to  Ireland,  which  she  heard 
a  great  deal  about  when  she  was  a  child.  The 
maternal  grandmother  must  have  gone  to  Salem 
at  a  very  early  age,  as  Benella  herself  savors  only 
of  New  England  soil." 

"  Has  she  any  trade,  or  is  she  trained  to  do 
anything  whatsoever  ?  "  asked  Francesca. 

"  No,  she  hoped  to  take  some  position  of 
'trust.'  She  does  not  care  at  all  what  it  is,  so 
long  as  the  occupation  is  *  interestin'  work,'  she 
says.  That  is  rather  vague,  of  course,  but  she 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences  33 

speaks  and  appears  like  a  nice  conscientious 
person." 

"Tell  us  the  rest;  conceal  nothing,"  I  said 
sternly. 

"  She  —  she  thinks  that  we  have  saved  her  life, 
and  she  feels  that  she  belongs  to  us,"  faltered 
Salemina. 

"  Belongs  to  us  !  "  we  cried  in  a  duet.  "  Was 
there  ever  such  a  base  reward  given  to  virtue ; 
ever  such  an  unwelcome  expression  of  gratitude  ! 
Belong  to  us,  indeed  !  We  can't  have  her ;  we 
won't  have  her.  Were  you  perfectly  frank  with 
her  ? " 

"  I  tried  to  be,  but  she  almost  insisted  ;  she 
has  set  her  heart  upon  being  our  maid." 

"  Does  she  know  how  to  be  a  maid  ?  " 

"  No,  but  she  is  extremely  teachable,  she  says." 

"  I  have  my  doubts,"  remarked  Francesca;  "a 
liking  for  personal  service  is  not  a  distinguishing 
characteristic  of  New  Englanders ;  they  are  not 
the  stuff  of  which  maids  are  made.  If  she  were 
French  or  German  or  Senegambian,  in  fact  any 
thing  but  a  Saleminian,  we  might  use  her ;  we 
have  always  said  we  needed  some  one." 

Salemina  brightened.  "  I  thought  myself  it 
might  be  rather  nice,  that  is,  I  thought  it  might 
be  a  way  out  of  the  difficulty.  Penelope  had 
thought  at  one  time  of  bringing  a  maid,  and  it 
would  save  us  a  great  deal  of  trouble.  The 
doctor  thinks  she  could  travel  a  short  distance  in 


34  Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

a  few  days;  perhaps  it  is  a  Providence  in  dis 
guise." 

"  The  disguise  is  perfect,"  murmured  Fran- 
cesca. 

"You  see,"  Salemina  continued,  "when  the 
poor  thing  tottered  along  the  wharf  the  stewardess 
laid  her  on  the  pile  of  wool  sacks,"  — 

"  Like  a  dying  Chancellor,"  again  interpolated 
the  irrepressible. 

"  And  ran  off  to  help  another  passenger. 
When  she  opened  her  eyes,  she  saw  straight  in 
front  of  her,  in  huge  letters,  '  Salem,  Mass.,  U. 
S.  A.'  It  loomed  before  her  despairing  vision, 
I  suppose,  like  a  great  ark  of  refuge,  and  seemed 
to  her  in  her  half-dazed  condition  not  only  a 
reminder,  but  almost  a  message  from  home.  She 
had  then  no  thought  of  ever  seeing  the  owner; 
she  says  she  felt  only  that  she  should  like  to  die 
quietly  on  anything  marked  *  Salem,  Mass.'  Go 
in  to  see  her  presently,  Penelope,  and  make  up 
your  own  mind  about  her.  See  if  you  can  per 
suade  her  to  —  to  —  well,  to  give  us  up.  Try  to 
get  her  out  of  the  notion  of  being  our  maid. 
She  is  so  firm  ;  I  never  saw  so  feeble  a  person 
who  could  be  so  firm  ;  and  what  in  the  world 
shall  we  do  with  her  if  she  keeps  on  insisting,  in 
her  nervous  state  ?  " 

"  My  idea  would  be,"  I  suggested,  "  to  engage 
her  provisionally,  if  we  must,  not  because  we 
want  her,  but  because  her  heart  is  weak.  I  shall 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences  35 

tell  her  that  we  do  not  feel  like  leaving  her  be 
hind,  and  yet  we  ourselves  cannot  be  detained  in 
Dublin  indefinitely  ;  that  we  will  try  the  arrange 
ment  for  a  month,  and  that  she  can  consider 
herself  free  to  leave  us  at  any  time  on  a  week's 
notice." 

"I  approve  of  that,"  agreed  Francesca,  "be 
cause  it  makes  it  easier  to  dismiss  her  in  case  she 
turns  out  to  be  a  Massachusetts  Borgia.  You 
remember,  however,  that  we  bore  with  the  vapors 
and  vagaries,  the  sighs  and  moans,  of  Jane  Grieve 
in  Pettybaw,  all  those  weeks,  and  not  one  of  us 
had  the  courage  to  throw  off  her  yoke.  Never 
shall  I  forget  her  at  your  wedding,  Penelope  ;  the 
teardrop  glistened  in  her  eye  as  usual ;  I  think 
it  is  glued  there !  Ronald  was  sympathetic,  be 
cause  he  fancied  she  was  weeping  for  the  loss  of 
you,  but  on  inquiry  it  transpired  that  she  was 
thinking  of  a  marriage  in  that '  won'erfu'  fine  fam 
ily  in  Glasgy,'  with  whose  charms  she  had  made 
us  all  too  familiar.  She  asked  to  be  remembered 
when  I  began  my  own  housekeeping,  and  I  told 
her  truthfully  that  she  was  not  a  person  who 
could  be  forgotten  ;  I  repressed  my  feeling  that 
she  is  too  tearful  for  a  Highland  village  where  it 
rains  most  of  the  year,  also  my  conviction  that 
Ronald's  parish  would  chasten  me  sufficiently 
without  her  aid." 

I  did  as  Salemina  wished,  and  had  a  confer 
ence  with  Miss  Dusenberry.  I  hope  I  was  quite 


36  Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

clear  in  my  stipulations  as  to  the  perfect  freedom 
of  the  four  contracting  parties.  I  know  I  in 
tended  to  be,  and  I  was  embarrassed  to  see  Fran- 
cesca  and  Salemina  exchange  glances  next  day 
when  Benella  said  she  would  show  us  what  a 
good  sailor  she  could  be,  on  the  return  voyage  to 
America,  adding  that  she  thought  a  person  would 
be  much  less  liable  to  seasickness  when  traveling 
in  the  first  cabin. 


THE    WEARING    OF    THE   GREEN 

"  Sir  Knight,  I  feel  not  the  least  alarm, 
No  son  of  Erin  will  offer  me  harm  — 
For  tho'  they  love  woman  and  golden  store, 
Sir  Knight,  they  love  honor  and  virtue  more  !  " 

Thomas  Moore. 

"  THIS  is  an  anniversary,"  said  Salemina,  com 
ing  into  the  sitting-room  at  breakfast  time  with 
a  book  under  her  arm.  "Having  given  up  all 
hope  of  any  one's  waking  in  this  hotel,  which, 
before  nine  in  the  morning,  is  precisely  like  the 
Sleeping  Beauty's  castle,  I  dressed  and  deter 
mined  to  look  up  Brian  Boru." 

"  From  all  that  I  can  recall  of  him  he  was  not 
a  person  to  meet  before  breakfast,"  yawned  Fran- 
cesca ;  "  still  I  shall  be  glad  of  a  little  fresh  light, 
for  my  mind  is  in  a  most  chaotic  state,  induced 
by  the  intellectual  preparation  that  you  have  made 
me  undergo  during  the  past  month.  I  dreamed 
last  night  that  I  was  conducting  a  mothers'  meet 
ing  in  Ronald's  new  parish,  and  the  subject  for 
discussion  was  the  Small  Livings  Scheme,  the 
object  of  which  is  to  augment  the  stipends  of  the 
ministers  of  the  Church  of  Scotland  to  a  minimum 


38  Penelope  s  IrisJi  Experiences 

of  .£200  per  annum.  I  tried  to  keep  the  members 
to  the  point,  but  was  distracted  by  the  sudden 
appearance,  in  all  corners  of  the  church,  of  peo 
ple  who  had  n't  been  '  asked  to  the  party.'  There 
was  Brian  Boru,  Tony  Lumpkin,  Finn  McCool, 
Felicia  Hemans,  Ossian,  Mrs.  Delany,  Sitric  of 
the  Silken  Beard,  St.  Columba,  Mickey  Free, 
Strongbow,  Maria  Edgeworth,  and  the  Venerable 
Bede.  Imagine  leading  a  mothers'  meeting  with 
those  people  in  the  pews,  —  it  was  impossible  ! 
St.  Columbkille  and  the  Venerable  Bede  seemed 
to  know  about  parochial  charges  and  livings  and 
stipends  and  glebes,  and  Maria  Edgeworth  was 
rather  helpful ;  but  Brian  and  Sitric  glared  at 
each  other  and  brandished  their  hymn  books 
threateningly,  while  Ossian  refused  to  sit  in  the 
same  pew  with  Mickey  Free,  who  behaved  in 
an  odious  manner,  and  interrupted  each  of  the 
speakers  in  turn.  Incidentally  a  group  of  per 
sons  huddled  together  in  a  far  corner  rose  out  of 
the  dim  light,  and  flapping  huge  wings,  flew  over 
my  head  and  out  of  the  window  above  the  altar. 
This  I  took  to  be  the  Flight  of  the  Earls,  and  the 
terror  of  it  awoke  me.  Whatever  my  parish  duties 
may  be  in  the  future,  at  least  they  cannot  be  any 
more  dreadful  and  disorderly  than  the  dream." 

"  I  don't  know  which  is  more  to  blame,  the 
seed  that  I  sowed,  or  the  soil  on  which  it  fell," 
said  Salemina,  laughing  heartily  at  Francesca's 
whimsical  nightmares  ;  "  but  as  I  said,  this  is  an 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences  39 

anniversary.  The  famous  battle  of  Clontarf  was 
fought  here  in  Dublin  on  this  very  day  eight  hun 
dred  years  ago,  and  Brian  Boru  routed  the  Danes 
in  what  was  the  last  struggle  between  Christian 
ity  and  heathenism.  The  greatest  slaughter  took 
place  on  the  streets  along  which  we  drove  yester 
day  from  Ballybough  Bridge  to  the  Four  Courts. 
Brian  Boru  was  king  of  Munster,  you  remember," 
(Salemina  always  says  this  for  courtesy's  sake), 
"  or  at  least  you  have  read  of  that  time  in  Ire 
land's  history  when  a  fair  lady  dressed  in  fine  silk 
and  gold  and  jewels  could  walk  unmolested  the 
length  of  the  land,  because  of  the  love  the  people 
bore  King  Brian  and  the  respect  they  cherished 
for  his  wise  laws.  Well,  Mailmora,  the  king  of 
Leinster,  had  quarreled  with  him,  and  joined 
forces  with  the  Danish  leaders  against  him. 
Broder  and  Amlaff,  two  vikings  from  the  Isle  of 
Man,  brought  with  them  a  '  fleet  of  two  thousand 
Danmarkians  and  a  thousand  men  covered  with 
mail  from  head  to  foot,'  to  meet  the  Irish,  who 
always  fought  in  tunics.  Joyce  says  that  Broder 
wore  a  coat  of  mail  that  no  steel  would  bite,  that 
he  was  both  tall  and  strong,and  that  his  black  locks 
were  so  long  that  he  tucked  them  under  his  belt, 
—  there  's  a  portrait  for  your  gallery,  Penelope. 
Brian's  army  was  encamped  on  the  Green  of  Aha- 
Clee,  which  is  now  Phoenix  Park,  and  when  he 
set  fire  to  the  Danish  districts,  the  fierce  Norse 
men  within  the  city  could  see  a  blazing,  smoking 


40  Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

pathway  that  reached  from  Dublin  to  Howth. 
The  quarrel  must  have  been  all  the  more  virulent 
in  that  Mailmora  was  Brian's  brother-in-law,  and 
Brian's  daughter  was  the  wife  of  Sitric  of  the 
Silken  Beard,  Danish  king  of  Dublin." 

"  I  refuse  to  remember  their  relationships  or 
alliances,'1  said  Francesca.  "  They  were  always 
intermarrying  with  their  foes  in  order  to  gain 
strength,  but  it  generally  seems  to  have  made 
things  worse  rather  than  better ;  still  I  don't  mind 
hearing  what  became  of  Brian  after  his  victory  ; 
let  us  quite  finish  with  him  before  the  eggs  come 
up.  I  suppose  it  will  be  eggs  ?  " 

"  Broder  the  Viking  rushed  upon  him  in  his 
tent  where  he  was  praying,  cleft  his  head  from  his 
body,  and  he  is  buried  in  Armagh  Cathedral," 
said  Salemina,  closing  the  book.  "  Penelope,  do 
ring  again  for  breakfast,  and  just  to  keep  us  from 
realizing  our  hunger  read  *  Remember  the  Glories 
of  Brian  the  Brave.'  " 

We  had  brought  letters  of  introduction  to  a 
dean,  a  bishop,  and  a  Rt.  Hon.  Lord  Justice,  so 
there  were  a  few  delightful  invitations  when  the 
morning  post  came  up  ;  not  so  many  as  there 
might  have  been,  perhaps,  had  not  the  Irish  capi 
tal  been  in  a  state  of  complete  dementia  over 
the  presence  of  the  greatest  Queen  in  the  world.1 

1  Penelope's  experiences  in  Scotland,  given  in  a  former  volume, 
ended,  the  meticulous  proof-reader  will  remember,  with  her  mar 
riage  in  the  year  of  the  Queen's  Jubilee.  It  is  apparent  in  the 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences  41 

Privately,  I  think  that  those  nations  in  the  habit 
of  having  kings  and  queens  at  all  should  have 
four,  like  those  in  a  pack  of  cards ;  then  they 
could  manage  to  give  all  their  colonies  and  de 
pendencies  a  frequent  sight  of  royalty,  and  pre 
vent  much  excitement  and  heart-burning. 

It  was  worth  something  to  be  one  of  the  luna 
tic  populace  when  the  little  lady  in  black,  with 
her  parasol  bordered  in  silver  shamrocks,  drove 
along  the  gayly  decorated  streets,  for  the  Irish, 
it  seems  to  me,  desire  nothing  better  than  to  be 
loyal,  if  any  persons  to  whom  they  can  be  loyal 
are  presented  to  them. 

"  Irish  disaffection  is,  after  all,  but  skin-deep," 
said  our  friend  the  dean  ;  "  it  is  a  cutaneous  mal 
ady,  produced  by  external  irritants.  Below  the 
surface  there  is  a  deep  spring  of  personal  loyalty, 
which  needs  only  a  touch  like  that  of  the  pro 
phet's  wand  to  enable  it  to  gush  forth  in  healing 
floods.  Her  Majesty  might  drive  through  these 
crowded  streets  in  her  donkey  chaise  unguarded, 
as  secure  as  the  lady  in  that  poem  of  Moore's 

opening  chapters  of  this  story  that  Penelope  came  to  Ireland 
the  following  spring,  which,  though  the  matter  is  hardly  impor 
tant,  was  not  that  of  the  Queen's  memorable  visit. 

The  Irish  experiences  are  probably  the  fruit  of  several  expe 
ditions,  and  Penelope  has  chosen  to  include  this  vivid  impression 
of  Her  Majesty's  welcome  to  Ireland,  even  though  it  might  con 
vict  her  of  an  anachronism.  Perhaps  as  this  is  not  an  historical 
novel,  but  a  "  chronicle  of  small  beer,"  the  trifling  inaccuracy  may 
be  pardoned.  K.  D.  W. 


42  Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

which  portrayed  the  safety  of  woman  in  Brian 
Boru's  time.  The  old  song  has  taken  on  a  new 
meaning.  It  begins,  you  know,  — 

'  Lady,  dost  thou  not  fear  to  stray 
So  lone  and  lonely  through  this  dark  way  ? ' 

and  the  Queen  might  answer  as  did  the  heroine, 

'  Sir  Knight,  I  feel  not  the  least  alarm, 
No  son  of  Erin  will  offer  me  harm.'  " 

It  was  small  use  for  the  parliamentary  mis- 
representatives  to  advise  treating  Victoria  of  the 
Good  Deeds  with  the  courtesy  due  to  a  foreign 
sovereign  visiting  the  country.  Under  the  miles 
of  flags  she  drove,  red,  white,  and  blue,  tossing 
themselves  in  the  sweet  spring  air,  and  up  from 
the  warm  hearts  of  the  surging  masses  of  people, 
men  and  women  alike,  Crimean  soldiers  and  old 
crones  in  rags,  gentry  and  peasants,  went  a  greet 
ing  I  never  before  heard  given  to  any  sovereign, 
for  it  was  a  sigh  of  infinite  content  that  trembled 
on  the  lips  and  then  broke  into  a  deep  sob,  as  a 
knot  of  Trinity  College  students  in  a  spontaneous 
burst  of  song,  flung  out  the  last  verse  of  "  The 
New  Wearing  of  the  Green."  J 

"  And  so  upon  St.  Patrick's  Day,  Victoria,  she  has  said 
Each  Irish  regiment  shall  wear  the  Green  beside  the  Red  ; 
And  she  's  coming  to  ould  Ireland,  who  away  so  long  has  been, 
And  dear   knows  but  into   Dublin  she  '11   ride   wearing   of  the 
Green." 

The  first  cheers  were  faint  and  broken,  and  the 

i  Alfred  Perceval  Graves. 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences  43 

emotion  that  quivered  on  every  face  and  the  tears 
that  gleamed  in  a  thousand  eyes  made  it  the  most 
touching  spectacle  in  the  world.  "  Foreign  Sov 
ereign,  indeed  ! "  She  was  the  Queen  of  Ireland, 
and  the  nation  of  courtiers  and  hero  worshipers 
was  at  her  feet.  There  was  the  history  of  five  hun 
dred  years  in  that  greeting,  and  to  me  it  spoke 
volumes. 

Plenty  of  people  there  were  in  the  crowd,  too, 
who  were  heartily  "  agin  the  government ; "  but 
Daniel  O'Connell  is  not  the  only  Irishman  who 
could  combine  a  detestation  of  the  Imperial  Par 
liament  with  a  passionate  loyalty  to  the  sov 
ereign. 

There  was  a  woman  near  us  who  "  remim- 
bered  the  last  time  Her  Noble  Highness  come, 
thirty-nine  years  back, — glory  be  to  God,  thim 
was  the  times!" — and  who  kept  ejaculating, 
"  She  's  the  best  woman  in  the  wurrld,  bar  none, 
and  the  most  varchous  faymale  !  "  As  her  hus 
band  made  no  reply,  she  was  obliged  in  her  ex 
citement  to  thump  him  with  her  umbrella  and 
repeat,  "  The  most  varchous  faymale,  do  you 
hear  ?  "  At  which  he  retorted,  "  Have  conduct, 
woman  ;  sure  I  've  nothin'  agin  it." 

"  Look  at  the  size  of  her  now,"  she  went  on, 
"sittin1  in  that  grand  carriage,  no  bigger  than 
me  own  Kitty,  and  always  in  the  black,  the  dar- 
lin'.  Look  at  her,  a  widdy  woman,  raring  that 
large  and  heavy  family  of  children  ;  and  how 


44  Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

well  she  's  married  off  her  daughters  (more  luck 
to  her !),  though  to  be  sure  they  must  have  been 
well  fortuned  !  They  do  be  sayin'  she  's  come 
over  because  she 's  plazed  with  seein'  estated 
gintlemen  lave  iverything  and  go  out  and  be  shot 
by  thim  bloody  Boers,  bad  scran  to  thim  !  Sure 
if  I  had  the  sons,  sorra  a  wan  but  I  'd  lave  go  ! 
Who 's  the  iligant  sojers  in  the  silver  stays, 
Thady  ?  Is  it  the  Life  Guards  you  're  callin' 
thim  ? " 

There  were  two  soldiers'  wives  standing  on  the 
pavement  near  us,  and  one  of  them  showed  a  half- 
sovereign  to  the  other,  saying,  "  'T  is  the  last  day's 
airnin'  iver  I  seen  by  him,  Mrs.  Muldoon,  ma'am  ! 
Ah,  there  's  thim  says  for  this  war,  an'  there  's 
thim  says  agin  this  war,  but  Heaven  lave  Himself 
where  he  is,  I  says,  for  of  all  the  ragin'  Turco- 
maniacs  iver  a  misfortunate  woman  was  curst 
with,  Pat  Brady,  my  full  private,  he  bates  'em 
all ! " 

Here  the  band  played  Come  back  to  Erin,  and 
the  scene  was  indescribable.  Nothing  could 
have  induced  me  to  witness  it  had  I  realized 
what  it  was  to  be,  for  I  wept  at  Holyrood  when  I 
heard  the  plaintive  strains  of  Bonnie  Charlie  's 
now  Awa  floating  up  to  the  Gallery  of  Kings  from 
the  palace  courtyard,  and  I  did  not  wish  Fran- 
cesca  to  see  me  shedding  national,  political,  and 
historical  tears  so  soon  again.  Francesca  herself 
is  so  ardent  a  republican  that  she  weeps  only  for 


Penelope 's  Irish  Experiences  45 

presidents  and  cabinet  officers.  For  my  part, 
although  I  am  thoroughly  loyal,  I  cannot  become 
sufficiently  attached  to  a  president  in  four  years 
to  shed  tears  when  I  see  him  driving  at  the  head 
of  a  procession. 


VI 


DUBLIN,    THEN    AND    NOW 

"  I  found  in  Innisfail  the  fair, 
In  Ireland,  while  in  exile  there, 
Women  of  worth,  both  grave  and  gay  men, 
Many  clerics,  and  many  laymen." 

James  Clarence  Mangan. 

MRS.  DELANY,  writing  from  Dublin  in  1731, 
says :  "  As  for  the  generality  of  people  that  I 
meet  with  here,  they  are  much  the  same  as  in 
England  —  a  mixture  of  good  and  bad.  All  that 
I  have  met  with  behave  themselves  very  decently 
according  to  their  rank  j  now  and  then  an  oddity 
breaks  out,  but  never  so  extraordinary  but  that  I 
can  match  it  in  England.  There  is  a  heartiness 
among  them  that  is  more  like  Cornwall  than  any 
I  have  known,  and  great  sociableness."  This 
picturesque  figure  in  the  life  of  her  day  gives 
charming  pictures  in  her  memoirs  of  the  Irish 
society  of  the  time,  descriptions  which  are  con 
firmed  by  contemporary  writers.  She  was  the 
wife  of  Dr.  Delany,  Dean  of  Down,  the  compan 
ion  of  duchesses  and  queens,  and  the  friend  of 
Swift.  Hannah  More,  in  a  poem  called  Sensi 
bility,  published  in  1778,  gives  this  quaint  and 
stilted  picture  of  her  :  — 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences  47 

"  Delany  shines,  in  worth  serenely  bright, 
Wisdom's  strong  ray,  and  virtue's  milder  light. 
And  she  who  blessed  the  friend  and  graced  the  page 
Of  Swift,  still  lends  her  lustre  to  our  age. 
Long,  long  protract  thy  light,  O  star  benign, 
Whose  setting  beams  with  added  brightness  shine  \  " 

The  Irish  ladies  of  Delany's  day,  who  scarcely 
ever  appeared  on  foot  in  the  streets,  were  famous 
for  their  grace  in  dancing,  it  seems,  as  the  men 
were  for  their  skill  in  swimming.  The  hospital 
ity  of  the  upper  classes  was  profuse,  and  by  no 
means  lacking  in  brilliancy  or  in  grace.  The  hu 
morous  and  satirical  poetry  found  in  the  fugitive 
literature  of  the  period  shows  conclusively  that 
there  were  plenty  of  bright  spirits  and  keen  wits 
at  the  banquets,  routs,  and  balls.  The  curse  of 
absenteeism  was  little  felt  in  Dublin,  where  the 
Parliament  secured  the  presence  of  most  of  the 
aristocracy  and  of  much  of  the  talent  of  the  coun 
try,  and  during  the  residence  of  the  viceroy  there 
was  the  influence  of  the  court  to  contribute  to 
the  sparkling  character  of  Dublin  society. 

How  they  managed  to  sparkle  when  discussing 
some  of  the  heavy  dinner  menus  of  the  time  I 
cannot  think.  Here  is  one  of  the  Dean  of  Down's 
bills  of  fare  :  — 

Turkeys  endove 
Boyled  leg  of  mutton' 

Greens,  etc. 
Soup 

Plum  Pudding 
Roast  loin  of  veal 


48  Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

Venison  pasty 

Partridge 
Sweetbreads 

Collared  Pig 
Creamed  apple  tart 

Crabs 
Fricassee  of  eggs 

Pigeons 
No  dessert  to  be  had. 

Although  there  is  no  mention  of  beverages  we 
may  be  sure  that  this  array  of  viands  was  not 
eaten  dry,  but  was  washed  down  with  a  plentiful 
variety  of  wines  and  liquors. 

The  hosts,  either  in  Dublin  or  London,  who 
numbered  among  their  dinner  guests  such  Irish 
men  as  Sheridan  or  Lysaght,  Mangan  or  Lever, 
Curran  or  Lover,  Father  Prout  or  Dean  Swift, 
had  as  great  a  feast  of  wit  and  repartee  as  one 
will  be  apt  soon  to  hear  again  ;  although  it  must 
have  been  Lever  or  Lover  who  furnished  the 
cream  of  Irish  humor,  and  Father  Prout  and 
Swift  the  curds. 

If  you  are  fortunate  enough  to  be  bidden  to 
the  right  houses  in  Ireland  to-day,  you  will  have 
as  much  good  talk  as  you  are  likely  to  hear  in 
any  other  city  in  this  degenerate  age,  which  has 
mostly  forgotten  how  to  converse  in  learning  to 
chat  ;  and  any  one  who  goes  to  the  Spring  Show 
at  Ball's  Bridge,  or  to  the  Punchestown  or  Leop- 
ardstown  races,  or  to  the  Dublin  horse  show,  will 
have  to  confess  that  the  Irishwomen  can  dispute 
the  palm  with  any  nation. 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences  49 

"  Light  on  their  feet  now  they  passed  me  and  sped, 

Give  you  me  word,  give  you  me  word, 
Every  girl  wid  a  turn  o'  the  head 

Just  like  a  bird,  just  like  a  bird  ; 
And  the  lashes  so  thick  round  their  beautiful  eyes 
Shinin'  to  tell  you  it 's  fair  time  o'  day  wid  them, 
Back  in  me  heart  wid  a  kind  of  surprise, 
I  think  how  the  Irish  girls  has  the  way  wid  them  ! " 

Their  charm  is  made  up  of  beautiful  eyes  and 
lashes,  lustre  of  hair,  poise  of  head,  shapeliness 
of  form,  vivacity  and  coquetry  ;  and  there  is  a 
matchless  grace  in  the  way  they  wear  the  "  what 
ever,"  be  it  the  chiffons  of  the  fashionable  dame, 
or  the  shawl  of  the  country  colleen,  who  can  draw 
the  two  corners  of  that  faded  article  of  apparel 
shyly  over  her  lips  and  look  out  from  under  it 
with  a  pair  of  luminous  gray  eyes  in  a  manner 
that  is  fairly  "disthractinV 

Yesterday  was  a  red-letter  day,  for  I  dined  in 
the  evening  at  Dublin  Castle,  and  Francesca  was 
bidden  to  the  concert  in  the  Throne  Room  after 
wards.  It  was  a  brilliant  scene  when  the  assem 
bled  guests  awaited  their  host  and  hostess,  the 
shaded  lights  bringing  out  the  satins  and  velvets, 
pearls  and  diamonds,  uniforms,  orders,  and  med 
als.  Suddenly  the  hum  of  voices  ceased  as  one 
of  the  aides-de-camp  who  preceded  the  vice-regal 
party  announced  "  Their  Excellencies."  We  made 
a  sort  of  passage  as  these  dignitaries  advanced 
to  shake  hands  with  a  few  of  those  they  knew 
best.  The  Lord  Lieutenant  then  gave  his  arm 


5O  Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

to  the  lady  of  highest  rank  (alas,  it  was  not  I  !)  ; 
Her  Excellency  chose  her  proper  squire,  and 
we  passed  through  the  beautifully  decorated 
rooms  to  St.  Patrick's  Hall  in  a  nicely  graded 
procession,  magnificence  at  the  head,  humility  at 
the  tail.  A  string  band  was  discoursing  sweet 
music  the  while,  and  I  fitted  to  its  measures  cer 
tain  well-known  lines  descriptive  of  the  entrance 
of  the  beasts  into  the  ark. 

"  The  animals  went  in  two  by  two, 
The  elephant  and  the  kangaroo." 

As  my  escort  was  a  certain  brilliant  lord  justice, 
and  as  the  wittiest  dean  in  Leinster  was  my  other 
neighbor,  I  almost  forgot  to  eat,  in  my  pleasure 
and  excitement.  I  told  the  dean  that  we  had 
chosen  Scottish  ancestors  before  going  to  our 
first  great  dinner  in  Edinburgh,  feeling  that  we 
should  be  more  in  sympathy  with  the  festivities 
and  more  acceptable  to  our  hostess,  but  that  I 
had  forgotten  to  provide  myself  for  this  occasion, 
my  first  function  in  Dublin  ;  whereupon  the  good 
dean  promptly  remembered  that  there  was  a  Pe 
nelope  O'Connor,  daughter  of  the  King  of  Con- 
naught.  I  could  not  quite  give  up  Tarn  o'  the 
Cowgate  (Thomas  Hamilton)  or  Jenny  Geddes 
of  fauld-stule  fame,  also  a  Hamilton,  but  I  added 
the  King  of  Connaught  to  the  list  of  my  chosen 
forbears  with  much  delight,  in  spite  of  the  polite 
protests  of  the  Rev.  Father  O'Hogan,  who  sat  op 
posite,  and  who  remarked  that 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences  51 

"  Man  for  his  glory 
To  ancestry  flies, 
But  woman's  bright  story 

Is  told  in  her  eyes. 
While  the  monarch  but  traces 
Through  mortal  his  line, 
Beauty  born  of  the  Graces 
Ranks  next  to  divine." 

I  asked  the  Reverend  Father  if  he  were  de 
scended  from  Galloping  O'Hogan,  who  helped 
Patrick  Sarsfield  to  spike  the  guns  of  the  Wil- 
liamites  at  Limerick. 

"  By  me  sowl,  ma'am,  it's  not  discinded  at  all 
I  am ;  I  am  one  o'  the  common  sort,  jist,"  he  an 
swered,  broadening  his  brogue  to  make  me  smile. 
A  delightful  man  he  was,  exactly  such  an  one  as 
might  have  sprung  full  grown  from  a  Lever  novel  ; 
one  who  could  talk  equally  well  with  his  flock 
about  pigs  or  penances,  purgatory  or  potatoes, 
and  quote  Tom  Moore  and  Lover  when  occasion 
demanded. 

Story  after  story  fell  from  his  genial  lips,  and  at 
last  he  said  apologetically,  "One  more,  and  I 
have  done,"  when  a  pretty  woman,  sitting  near 
him,  interpolated  slyly,  "  We  might  say  to  you, 
your  reverence,  what  the  old  woman  said  to  the 
eloquent  priest  who  finished  his  sermon  with 
*  One  word,  and  I  have  done.'  " 

"  An'  what  is  that,  ma'am  ?  "  asked  Father 
O'Hogan. 

"  Och  !  me  darlin'  pracher,  may  ye  niver  be 
done ! " 


52  Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

We  all  agreed  that  we  should  like  to  recon 
struct  the  scene  for  a  moment  and  look  at  a 
drawing-room  of  two  hundred  years  ago,  when 
Her  Excellency  after  the  minuets  at  eleven 
o'clock  went  to  her  basset  table,  while  her  pages 
attended  behind  her  chair,  and  when  on  ball 
nights  the  ladies  scrambled  for  sweetmeats  on 
the  dancing-floor.  As  to  their  probable  toi 
lettes  one  could  not  give  purer  pleasure  than  by 
quoting  Mrs.  Delany's  description  of  one  of 
them  :  — 

"  The  Duchess's  dress  was  of  white  satin  em 
broidered,  the  bottom  of  the  petticoat  brown  hills 
covered  with  all  sorts  of  weeds,  and  every  breadth 
had  an  old  stump  of  a  tree,  that  ran  up  almost  to 
the  top  of  the  petticoat,  broken  and  ragged,  and 
worked  with  brown  chenille,  round  which  twined 
nasturtiums,  ivy,  honeysuckles,  periwinkles,  and 
all  sorts  of  running  flowers,  which  spread  and 
covered  the  petticoat.  .  .  .  The  robings  and  fa 
cings  were  little  green  banks  covered  with  all 
sorts  of  weeds,  and  the  sleeves  and  the  rest  of 
the  gown  loose  twining  branches  of  the  same  sort 
as  those  on  the  petticoat.  Many  of  the  leaves 
were  finished  with  gold,  and  part  of  the  stumps 
of  the  trees  looked  like  the  gilding  of  the  sun.  I 
never  saw  a  piece  of  work  so  prettily  fancied." 

She  adds  a  few  other  details  for  the  instruction 
of  her  sister  Anne  :  — 

"  Heads  are  variously  adorned  ;  pompons  with 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences  53 

some  accompaniment  of  feathers,  ribbons,  or 
flowers  ;  lappets  in  all  sorts  of  curli-murlis  ;  long 
hoods  are  worn  close  under  the  chin  ;  the  ear 
rings  go  round  the  neck  (!),  and  tie  with  bows  and 
ends  behind.  Night-gowns  are  worn  without 
hoops." 


PART   SECOND 
MUNSTER 


PART   SECOND.     MUNSTER 
VII 

A    TOUR   AND    A    DETOUR 

" '  An'  there,'  sez  I  to  meself,  '  we  're  goin'  wherever  we  go, 
But  where  we  '11  be  whin  we  git  there   it   's   never  a   know   I  '11 
know.' " 

Jane  Barlow. 

WE  had  planned  to  go  direct  from  Dublin  to 
Valencia  Island,  where  there  is  not,  I  am  told, 
"  one  dhry  step  'twixt  your  fut  an'  the  States  ;  " 
but  we  thought  it  too  tiring  a  journey  for  Benella, 
and  arranged  for  a  little  visit  to  Cork  first.  We 
nearly  missed  the  train  owing  to  the  late  arrival 
of  Salemina  at  the  Kingsbridge  station.  She  had 
been  buying  malted  milk,  Mellin's  Food,  an  alco 
hol  lamp,  a  tin  cup,  and  getting  all  the  doctor's 
prescriptions  renewed. 

We  intended,  too,  to  go  second  or  third  class 
now  and  then,  in  order  to  study  the  humors  of 
the  natives,  but  of  course  we  went  "  first  "  on  this 
occasion  on  account  of  Benella.  I  told  her  that 
we  could  not  follow  British  usage  and  call  her 
by  her  surname.  Dusenberry  was  too  long  and 
too  —  well,  too  extraordinary  for  daily  use  abroad. 

"  P'r'aps  it  is,"  she  assented  meekly;  "and 
still,  Mis'  Beresford,  when  a  man's  name  is  Du- 


58  Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

senberry,  you  can't  hardly  blame  him  for  wanting 
his  child  to  be  called  by  it,  can  you  ?  " 

This  was  incontrovertible,  and  I  asked  her 
middle  name.  It  was  Frances,  and  that  was  too 
like  Francesca. 

"You  don't  like  the  sound  o'  Benella?"  she 
inquired.  "  I  've  always  set  great  store  by  my 
name,  it  is  so  unlikely.  My  father's  name  was 
Benjamin  and  my  mother's  Ella,  and  mine  is 
made  from  both  of  'em  ;  but  you  can  call  me  any 
kind  of  a  name  you  please,  after  what  you  've 
done  for  me,"  and  she  closed  her  eyes  patiently. 

"  Call  me  Daphne,  call  me  Chloris, 
Call  me  Lalage  or  Doris, 
Only,  only  call  me  thine," 

which  is  exactly  what  we  are  not  ready  to  do,  I 
thought,  in  a  poetic  parenthesis. 

Benella  looks  frail  and  yet  hardy.  She  has  an 
unusual  and  perhaps  unnecessary  amount  of  im 
agination  for  her  station,  some  native  common 
sense,  but  limited  experience ;  she  is  somewhat 
vague  and  inconsistent  in  her  theories  of  life,  but 
I  am  sure  there  is  vitality,  and  energy  too,  in  her 
composition,  although  it  has  been  temporarily 
drowned  in  the  Atlantic  Ocean.  If  she  were  a 
clock,  I  should  think  that  some  experimenter  had 
taken  out  her  original  works,  and  substituted 
others  to  see  how  they  would  run.  The  clock 
has  a  New  England  case  and  strikes  with  a  New 
England  tone,  but  the  works  do  not  match  it  al- 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences  59 

together.  Of  course  I  know  that  one  does  not 
ordinarily  engage  a  lady's  maid  because  of  these 
piquant  peculiarities  ;  but  in  our  case  the  circum 
stances  were  extraordinary.  I  have  explained 
them  fully  to  Himself  in  my  letters,  and  Fran- 
cesca  too  has  written  pages  of  illuminating  detail 
to  Ronald  Macdonald. 

The  similarity  in  the  minds  of  men  must  some 
times  come  across  them  with  a  shock,  unless  in 
deed  it  appeals  to  their  sense  of  humor.  Himself 
in  America,  and  the  Rev.  Mr.  Macdonald  in  the 
north  of  Scotland,  both  answered,  in  course  of 
time,  that  a  lady's  maid  should  be  engaged  be 
cause  she  is  a  lady's  maid  and  for  no  other 
reason. 

Was  ever  anything  duller  than  this,  more  con 
ventional,  more  commonplace  or  didactic,  less 
imaginative  ?  Himself  added,  "  You  are  a  ro 
mantic  idiot,  and  I  love  you  more  than  tongue 
can  tell."  Francesca  did  not  say  what  Ronald 
added ;  probably  a  part  of  this  same  sentence 
(owing  to  the  aforesaid  similarity  of  men's 
minds),  reserving  the  rest  for  the  frank  intimacy 
of  the  connubial  state. 

Everything  looked  beautiful  in  the  uncertain 
glory  of  the  April  day.  The  thistledown  clouds 
opened  now  and  then  to  shake  out  a  delicate, 
brilliant  little  shower,  then  ceased  in  a  trice,  and 
the  sun  smiled  through  the  light  veil  of  rain,  turn 
ing  every  falling  drop  to  a  jewel.  It  was  as  if 


60  Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

the  fairies  were  busy  at  aerial  watering  pots,  with 
out  any  more  serious  purpose  than  to  amuse 
themselves  and  make  the  earth  beautiful ;  and  we 
realized  that  Irish  rain  is  as  warm  as  an  Irish 
welcome,  and  soft  as  an  Irish  smile. 

Everything  was  bursting  into  new  life,  every 
thing  but  the  primroses,  and  their  glory  was  de 
parting.  The  yellow  carpet  seemed  as  bright  as 
ever  on  the  sunny  hedgerow  banks  and  on  the 
fringe  of  the  woods,  but  when  we  plucked  some 
at  a  wayside  station  we  saw  that  they  were  just 
past  their  golden  prime.  There  was  a  gray-green 
hint  of  verdure  in  the  sallows  that  stood  against 
a  dark  background  of  firs  and  the  branches  of 
the  fruit  trees  were  tipped  with  pink,  rosy  hued 
promises  of  May  just  threatening  to  break  through 
their  silvery  April  sheaths.  Raindrops  were  still 
glistening  on  the  fronds  of  the  tender  young 
ferns  and  on  the  great  clumps  of  pale,  delicately 
scented  bog  violets  that  we  found  in  a  marshy 
spot  and  brought  in  to  Salemina,  who  was  not  in 
her  usual  spirits  ;  who  indeed  seemed  distinctly 
anxious. 

She  was  enchanted  with  the  changeful  charm 
of  the  landscape,  and  found  Mrs.  Delany's  Me 
moirs  a  book  after  her  own  heart,  but  ever  and 
anon  her  eyes  rested  on  Benella's  pale  face.  No 
thing  could  have  been  more  doggedly  conscien 
tious  and  assiduous  than  our  attentions  to  the 
Derelict.  She  had  beef  juice  at  Kildare,  malted 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences  61 

milk  at  Ballybrophy,  tea  at  Dundrum  ;  neverthe 
less,  as  we  approached  Limerick  Junction  we 
were  obliged  to  hold  a  consultation.  Salemina 
wished  to  alight  from  the  train  at  the  next  sta 
tion,  take  a  three  or  four  hours'  rest,  then  jog  on 
to  any  comfortable  place  for  the  night,  and  to 
Cork  in  the  morning. 

"  I  shall  feel  much  more  comfortable,"  she  said, 
"  if  you  go  on  and  amuse  yourselves  as  you  like, 
leaving  Benella  to  me  for  a  day,  or  even  for  two 
or  three  days.  I  can't  help  feeling  that  the  chief 
fault,  or  at  least  the  chief  responsibility,  is  mine. 
If  I  had  n't  been  born  in  Salem,  or  had  n't  had 
the  word  painted  on  my  trunk  in  such  red  letters, 
she  would  n't  have  fainted  on  it,  and  I  need  n't 
have  saved  her  life.  It  is  too  late  to  turn  back 
now ;  it  is  saved,  or  partly  saved,  and  I  must  per 
severe  in  saving  it,  at  least  until  I  find  that  it 's 
not  worth  saving." 

"Poor  darling,"  said  Francesca  sympathiz- 
ingly.  "  I  '11  look  in  Murray  and  find  a  nice  in 
teresting  place.  You  can  put  Benella  to  bed  in 
the  Southern  Hotel  at  Limerick  Junction,  and 
perhaps  you  can  then  drive  within  sight  of  the 
Round  Tower  of  Cashel.  Then  you  can  take 
up  the  afternoon  train  and  go  to  —  let  me  see 
—  how  would  you  like  Buttevant  ?  (Boutez  en 
avant,  you  know,  the  '  Push  forward  '  motto  of 
the  Barrymores.)  It 's  delightful,  Penelope,"  she 
continued ;  "  we  'd  better  get  off,  too.  It  is  a 


62  Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 


garrison  town,  and  there  is  a  military  hotel. 
Then  in  the  vicinity  is  Kilcolman,  where  Spenser 
wrote  the  Faerie  Queene  :  so  there  is  the  begin 
ning  of  your  literary  pilgrimage  the  very  first  day, 
without  any  plotting  or  planning.  The  little  river 
Aubeg,  which  flows  by  Kilcolman  Castle,  Spenser 
called  the  Mulla,  and  referred  to  it  as  '  Mulla 
mine,  whose  waves  I  whilom  taught  to  weep.' 
That,  by  the  way,  is  no  more  than  our  Jane  Grieve 
could  have  done  for  the  rivers  of  Scotland.  What 
do  you  say  ?  and  won't  you  be  a  '  prood  woman 
the  day '  when  you  sign  the  hotel  register  '  Miss 
Peabody  and  maid,  Salem,  Mass.,  U.  S.  A.'  " 

I  thought  most  favorably  of  Buttevant,  but  on 
prudently  inquiring  the  guard's  opinion,  he  said 
it  was  not  a  comfortable  place  for  an  invalid  lady, 
and  that  Mallow  was  much  more  the  thing.  At 
Limerick  Junction,  then,  we  all  alighted,  and  in 
the  ten  minutes'  wait  saw  Benella  escorted  up  the 
hotel  stairway  by  a  sympathetic  head  waiter. 

Detached  from  Salemina's  fostering  care  and 
prudent  espionage,  separated,  above  all,  from  the 
depressing  Miss  Dusenberry,  we  planned  every 
conceivable  folly  in  the  way  of  guidebook  expedi 
tions.  The  exhilarating  sense  of  being  married, 
and  therefore  properly  equipped  to  undertake  any 
sort  of  excursion  with  perfect  propriety,  gave 
added  zest  to  the  affair  in  my  eyes.  Sleeping  at 
Cork  in  an  Imperial  Hotel  was  far  too  usual  a 
proceeding,  —  we  scorned  it.  As  the  very  apex 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences  63 

of  boldness  and  reckless  defiance  of  common 
sense,  we  let  our  heavy  luggage  go  on  to  the 
capital  of  Munster,  and,  taking  our  handbags,  en 
tered  a  railway  carriage  standing  on  a  side  track, 
and  were  speedily  on  our  way,  —  we  knew  not 
whither,  and  cared  less.  We  discovered  all  too 
soon  that  we  were  going  to  Waterford,  the  Star 
of  the  Suir,  — 

"  The  gentle  Shure,  that  making  way 
By  sweet  Clonmell,  adorns  rich  Waterford  ; " 

and  we  were  charmed  at  first  sight  with  its  quaint 
bridge  spanning  the  silvery  river.  It  was  only 
five  o'clock,  and  we  walked  about  the  fine  old 
ninth-century  town,  called  by  the  Cavaliers  the 
Urbs  Intacta,  because  it  was  the  one  place  in 
Ireland  which  successfully  resisted  the  all-con 
quering  Cromwell.  Francesca  sent  a  telegram  at 
once  to 

Miss  PEABODY  AND  MAID,  Great  Southern  Ho 
tel,  Limerick  Junction. 

Came  to  Waterford  instead  Cork.  Strong- 
bow  landed  here  1771,  defeating  Danes  and  Irish. 
Youghal  to-morrow,  pronounced  Yawl.  Address 
Green  Park,  Miss  Murphy's.  How  's  Derelict  ? 

FRANELOPE. 

It  was  absurd,  of  course,  but  an  absurdity  that 
can  be  achieved  at  the  cost  of  eighteen  pence  is 
well  worth  the  money. 


64  Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

Nobody  but  a  Baedeker  or  a  Murray  could 
write  an  account  of  our  doings  the  next  two  days. 
Feeling  that  we  might  at  any  hour  be  recalled  to 
Benella's  bedside,  we  took  a  childlike  pleasure  in 
crowding  as  much  as  possible  into  the  time. 
This  zeal  was  responsible  for  our  leaving  the  Urbs 
Intacta,  and  pushing  on  to  pass  the  night  in 
something  smaller  and  more  idyllic. 

I  dissuaded  Francesca  from  seeking  a  lodging 
in  Ballybricken  by  informing  her  that  it  was  the 
heart  of  the  bacon  industry,  and  the  home  of  the 
best  known  body  of  pig-buyers  in  Ireland  j  but 
her  mind  was  fixed  upon  Kills  and  Bailies.  On 
asking  our  jarvey  the  meaning  of  Bally  as  a  pre 
fix,  he  answered  reflectively :  "  I  don't  think 
there  's  annything  onderhanded  in  the  manin', 
inelady ;  I  think  it  means  bally  jist." 

The  name  of  the  place  where  we  did  go  shall 
never  be  divulged,  lest  a  curious  public  follow  in 
our  footsteps  ;  and  if  perchance  it  have  not  our 
youth,  vigor,  and  appetite  for  adventure,  it  might 
die  there  in  the  principal  hotel,  unwept,  unhon- 
ored,  and  unsung.  The  house  is  said  to  be  three 
hundred  and  seventy-five  years  old,  but  we  are 
convinced  that  this  is  a  wicked  understatement 
of  its  antiquity.  It  must  have  been  built  since 
the  Deluge,  else  it  would  at  least  have  had  one 
general  spring  cleaning  in  the  course  of  its  exist 
ence.  Cromwell  had  been  there,  too,  and  in  the 
confusion  of  his  departure  they  must  have  for- 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences  65 

gotten  to  sweep  under  the  beds.  We  entered  our 
rooms  at  ten  in  the  evening,  having  dismissed 
our  car,  knowing  well  that  there  was  no  other 
place  to  stop  the  night.  We  gave  the  jarvey 
twice  his  fare  to  avoid  altercation,  "but  divil  a 
penny  less  would  he  take,"  although  it  was  he 
who  had  recommended  the  place  as  a  cosy  hotel. 
"  It  looks  like  a  small  little  house,  melady,  but 
't  is  large  inside,  and  it  has  a  power  o'  beds  in 
it."  We  each  generously  insisted  on  taking  the 
dirtiest  bedroom  (they  had  both  been  last  oc 
cupied  by  the  Cromwellian  soldiers,  we  agreed), 
but  relinquished  the  idea,  because  the  more  we 
compared  them  the  more  impossible  it  was  to 
decide  which  was  the  dirtiest.  There  were  no 
locks  on  the  doors.  "  And  sure  what  matther  for 
that,  Miss  ?  Nobody  has  a  right  (/.  e.  business), 
to  be  comin'  in  here  but  meself  "  said  the  aged 
woman  who  showed  us  to  our  rooms. 


VIII 

ROMANCE   AND    REALITY 

"  But  he  lay  like  a  warrior  taking  his  rest 
.     With  his  martial  cloak  around  him." 

Charles  Wolfe. 

AT  midnight  I  heard  a  faint  tap  at  my  door, 
and  Francesca  walked  in,  her  eyes  wide  and 
bright,  her  cheeks  flushed,  her  long  dark  braid  of 
hair  hanging  over  her  black  traveling  cloak.  I 
laughed  as  I  saw  her,  she  looked  so  like  Sir  Pat 
rick  Spens  in  the  ballad  play  at  Pettybaw,  —  a 
memorable  occasion  when  Ronald  Macdonald 
caught  her  acting  that  tragic  role  in  his  ministe 
rial  gown,  the  very  day  that  Himself  came  from 
Paris  to  marry  me  in  Pettybaw,  dear  little  Petty 
baw  ! 

"  I  came  in  to  find  out  if  your  bed  is  as  bad  as 
mine,  but  I  see  you  have  not  slept  in  it,"  she 
whispered. 

"  I  was  just  coming  in  to  see  if  yours  could  be 
any  worse,"  I  replied.  "  Do  you  mean  to  say 
that  you  have  tried  it,  courageous  girl  ?  I  blew 
out  my  candle,  and  then,  after  an  interval  in 
which  to  forget,  sat  down  on  the  outside  as  a 
preliminary  ;  but  the  moon  rose  just  then,  and  I 
could  get  no  further." 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences  67 

I  had  not  unpacked  my  bag.  I  had  simply 
slipped  on  my  mackintosh,  selected  a  wooden 
chair,  and,  putting  a  Cromwellian  towel  over  it, 
seated  myself  shudderingly  on  it  and  put  my  feet 
on  the  rounds,  quoting  Moore  meantime  — 

"  And  the  best  of  all  ways 

To  lengthen  our  days, 
Is  to  steal  a  few  hours  from  the  night,  my  dear !  " 

Francesca  followed  my  example,  and  we  passed 
the  night  in  reading  Celtic  romances  to  each 
other.  We  could  see  the  faint  outline  of  sweet 
Slievenamann  from  our  windows,  —  the  mountain 
of  the  fair  women  of  Feimheann,  celebrated  as 
the  hunting  ground  of  the  Finnian  chiefs. 

"  One  day  Finn  and  Oscar 

Followed  the  chase  in  Sliabh-na-mban-Feimheann, 
With  three  thousand  Finnian  chiefs 
Ere  the  sun  looked  out  from  his  circle." 

In  the  Finnian  legend,  the  great  Finn  McCool, 
when  much  puzzled  in  the  choice  of  a  wife,  seated 
himself  on  its  summit.  At  last  he  decided  to 
make  himself  a  prize  in  a  competition  of  all  the 
fair  women  in  Ireland.  They  should  start  at  the 
foot  of  the  mountain,  and  the  one  who  first 
reached  the  summit  should  be  the  great  Finn's 
bride.  It  was  Grainne  Oge,  the  Gallic  Helen, 
and  daughter  of  Cormac,  the  king  of  Ireland, 
who  won  the  chieftain,  "  being  fleetest  of  foot  and 
longest  of  wind." 

We  almost  forgot  our  discomforts  in  this  en- 


68  Penelope's  Irish  Experiences 

thralling  story,  and  slept  on  each  other's  nice 
clean  shoulders  a  little,  just  before  the  dawn« 
And  such  a  dawn  !  Such  infinite  softness  of  air, 
such  dew-drenched  verdure  !  It  is  a  backward 
spring,  they  say,  but  to  me  the  woods  are  even 
lovelier  than  in  their  summer  wealth  of  foliage, 
when  one  can  hardly  distinguish  the  beauty  of 
the  single  tree  from  that  of  its  neighbors,  since 
the  colors  are  blended  in  one  universal  green. 
Now  we  see  the  feathery  tassels  of  the  beech 
bursting  out  of  their  brown  husks,  the  russet 
hues  of  the  young  oak  leaves,  and  the  count 
less  emerald  gleams  that  "  break  from  the  ruby- 
budded  lime."  The  greenest  trees  are  the  larch, 
the  horse-chestnut,  and  the  sycamore,  three  natu 
ralized  citizens  who  apparently  still  keep  to  their 
native  fashions,  and  put  out  their  foliage  as  they 
used  to  do  in  their  own  homes.  The  young  al 
ders  and  the  hawthorn  hedges  are  greening,  but 
it  will  be  a  fortnight  before  we  can  realize  the 
beauty  of  that  snow-white  bloom,  with  its  bitter 
sweet  fragrance.  The  cuckoo-flower  came  this 
year  before  instead  of  after  the  bird,  they  tell 
us,  showing  that  even  Nature,  in  these  days  of 
anarchy  and  misrule,  is  capable  of  taking  liber 
ties  with  her  own  laws.  There  is  a  fragrance  of 
freshly  turned  earth  in  the  air,  and  the  rooks  are 
streaming  out  from  the  elms  by  the  little  church 
and  resting  for  a  bit  in  a  group  of  plume-like 
yews.  The  last  few  days  of  warmth  and  sunshine 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences  69 

have  inspired  the  birds,  and  as  Francesca  and  I 
sit  at  our  windows  breathing  in  the  sweetness 
and  freshness  of  the  morning,  there  is  a  concert 
of  thrushes  and  blackbirds  in  the  shrubberies. 
The  little  birds  furnish  the  chorus  or  the  under 
tone  of  song,  the  hedge-sparrows,  redbreasts, 
and  chaffinches,  but  the  meistersingers  "  call  the 
tune  "  and  lead  the  feathered  orchestra  with  clear 
and  certain  notes.  It  is  a  golden  time  for  the 
minstrels,  for  nest-building  is  finished,  and  the 
feeding  of  the  younglings  a  good  time  yet  in 
the  future.  We  can  see  one  little  brown  lady 
hovering  warm  eggs  under  her  breast,  her  bright 
eyes  peeping  through  a  screen  of  leaves  as  she 
glances  up  at  her  singing  lord,  pouring  out  his 
thanks  for  the  morning  sun.  There  is  only  a 
hint  of  breeze,  it  might  almost  be  the  whisper 
of  uncurling  fern  fronds,  but  soft  as  it  is,  it  stirs 
the  branches  here  and  there,  and  I  know  that  it 
is  rocking  hundreds  of  tiny  cradles  in  the  forest. 
When  I  was  always  painting,  in  those  other 
days  before  I  met  Himself,  one  might  think  my 
eyes  would  have  been  even  keener  to  see  beauty 
than  now,  when  my  brushes  are  more  seldom 
used  ;  but  it  is  not  so.  There  is  something,  deep 
hidden  in  my  consciousness,  that  makes  all  love 
liness  lovelier,  that  helps  me  to  interpret  it  in  a 
different  and  in  a  larger  sense.  I  have  a  feeling 
that  I  have  been  lifted  out  of  the  individual  and 
given  my  true  place  in  the  general  scheme  of  the 


70  Penelopes  Irish  Experiences 

universe,  and,  in  some  subtle  way  that  I  can 
hardly  explain,  I  am  more  nearly  related  to  all 
things  good,  beautiful,  and  true  than  I  was  when 
I  was  wholly  an  artist,  and  therefore  less  a  wo 
man.  The  bursting  of  the  leaf  buds  brings  me  a 
tender  thought  of  the  one  dear  heart  that  gives 
me  all  its  spring  ;  and  whenever  I  see  the  smile 
of  a  child,  a  generous  look,  the  flash  of  sympathy 
in  an  eye,  it  makes  me  warm  with  swift  remem 
brance  of  the  one  I  love  the  best  of  all,  just  "as 
a  lamplight  will  set  a  linnet  singing  for  the  sun." 

Love  is  doing  the  same  thing  for  Francesca  ; 
for  the  smaller  feelings  merge  themselves  in  the 
larger  ones,  as  little  streams  lose  themselves  in 
oceans.  Whenever  we  talk  quietly  together  of 
that  strange,  new,  difficult  life  that  she  is  going 
so  bravely  and  so  joyously  to  meet,  I  know  by 
her  expression  that  Ronald's  noble  face,  a  little 
shy,  a  little  proud,  but  altogether  adoring,  serves 
her  for  courage  and  for  inspiration,  and  she  feels 
that  his  hand  is  holding  hers  across  the  distance, 
in  a  clasp  that  promises  strength. 

At  five  o'clock  we  longed  to  ring  for  hot  water, 
but  did  not  dare.  Even  at  six  there  was  no  sound 
of  life  in  the  cosy  inn  which  we  have  named 
The  Cromwell  Arms  ("  Mrs.  Buddy,  Manageress ; 
Comfort,  Cleanliness,  Courtesy  ;  Night  Porter  ; 
Cycling  Shed  ").  From  seven  to  half  past  we 
read  pages  and  pages  of  delicious  history  and 
legend,  and  decided  to  go  from  Cappoquin  to 


Penelopes  Irish  Experiences  71 

Youghal  by  steamer,  if  we  could  possibly  reach 
the  place  of  departure  in  time.  At  half  past 
seven  we  pulled  the  bell  energetically.  Nothing 
happened,  and  we  pulled  again  and  again,  discov 
ering  at  last  that  the  connection  between  the  bell 
rope  and  the  bell  wire  had  long  since  disappeared, 
though  it  had  been  more  than  once  established 
with  bits  of  twine,  fishing  line,  and  shoe  laces. 
Francesca  then  went  across  the  hall  to  examine 
her  methods  of  communication,  and  presently  I 
heard  a  welcome  tinkle,  and  another,  and  another, 
followed  in  due  season  by  a  cheerful  voice,  say 
ing,  "  Don't  desthroy  it  intirely,  ma'am ;  I  '11  be 
coming  direckly."  We  ordered  jugs  of  hot  water, 
and  were  told  that  it  would  be  some  time  before 
it  could  be  had,  as  ladies  were  not  in  the  habit  of 
calling  for  it  before  nine  in  the  morning,  and  as 
the  damper  of  the  kitchen  range  was  out  of  order. 
Did  we  wish  it  in  a  little  canteen  with  whiskey 
and  a  bit  of  lemon  peel,  or  were  we  afther  wantin' 
it  in  a  jug  ?  We  replied  promptly  that  it  was  not 
the  hour  for  toddy,  but  the  hour  for  baths,  with 
us,  and  the  decrepit  and  very  sleepy  night  porter 
departed  to  wake  the  cook  and  build  the  fire  ;  ad 
vising  me  first,  in  a  friendly  way.  to  take  the 
hearth  brush  that  was  "  kapin'  the  windy  up  and 
rap  on  the  wall  if  I  needed  annything  more." 
At  eight  o'clock  we  heard  the  porter's  shuffling 
step  in  the  hall,  followed  by  a  howl  and  a  polite 
objurgation.  A  strange  dog  had  passed  the  night 


72  Penelope 's  Irish  Experiences 

under  Francesca's  bed,  and  the  porter  was  giving 
him  what  he  called  "  a  good  hand  and  fut  down 
stairs."  He  had  put  down  the  hot  water  for  this 
operation,  and  on  taking  up  the  burden  again  we 
heard  him  exclaim  :  "  Arrah  !  look  at  that  now  ! 
May  the  divil  fly  away  with  the  excommunicated 
ould  jug  ! "  It  was  past  saving,  the  jug,  and 
leaked  so  freely  that  one  had  to  be  exceedingly 
nimble  to  put  to  use  any  of  the  smoky  water  in  it. 
"  Thim  fools  o'  turf  do  nothing  but  smoke  on 
me,"  apologized  the  venerable  servitor,  who  then 
asked  "  would  we  be  pleased  to  order  breakquist." 
We  were  wise  in  our  generation,  and  asked  for 
nothing  but  bacon,  eggs,  and  tea;  and  after  a 
smoky  bath  and  a  change  of  raiment  we  were 
seated  at  our  repast  in  the  coffee  room,  feeling 
wonderfully  fresh  and  cheerful.  By  looking  di 
rectly  at  each  other  most  of  the  time,  and  making 
experimental  journeys  from  plate  to  mouth,  thus 
barring  out  any  intimate  knowledge  of  the  table 
cloth  and  the  waiter's  linen,  we  managed  to  make 
a  breakfast.  Francesca  is  enough  to  give  any 
one  a'good  appetite.  Ronald  Macdonald  will  be 
a  lucky  fellow,  I  think,  to  begin  his  day  by  sitting 
opposite  her,  for  her  eyes  shine  like  those  of  a 
child,  and  one's  gaze  lingers  fondly  on  the  cool 
freshness  of  her  cheek.  Breakfast  over  and  the 
bill  settled,  we  speedily  shook  off  as  much  of 
the  dust  of  Mrs.  Buddy's  hotel  as  could  be  shaken 
off,  and  departed  on  the  most  decrepit  side  car 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences  73 

that  ever  rolled  on  two  wheels,  being  wished  a 
safe  journey  by  a  slatternly  maid  who  stood  in 
the  doorway,  by  the  wide  Mrs.  Duddy  herself, 
who  realized  in  her  capacious  person  the  pic 
turesque  Irish  phrase  "the  full-of-the-door  of  a 
woman,"  and  by  our  friend  the  head  waiter,  who 
leaned  against  Mrs.  Buddy's  ancestral  pillars  in 
such  a  way  that  the  morning  sun  shone  full  upon 
his  costume  and  revealed  its  weaknesses  to  our 
reluctant  gaze. 

The  driver  said  it  was  eleven  miles  to  Cappo- 
quin,  the  guide-book  fourteen,  but  this  difference 
of  opinion,  we  find,  is  only  the  difference  between 
Irish  and  English  miles,  for  which  our  driver  had 
an  unspeakable  contempt,  as  of  a  vastly  inferior 
quality.  He  had,  on  the  other  hand,  a  great  re 
spect  for  Mrs.  Duddy  and  her  comfortable,  cleanly, 
and  courteous  establishment  (as  per  advertise 
ment),  and  the  warmest  admiration  for  the  village 
in  which  she  had  appropriately  located  herself,  a 
village  which  he  alluded  to  as  "  wan  of  the  natest 
towns  in  the  ring  of  Ireland,  for  if  ye  made  a  slip 
in  the  street  of  it,  be  the  help  of  God  ye  were 
always  sure  to  fall  into  a  public  house !  " 

"  We  had  better  not  tell  the  full  particulars  of 
this  journey  to  Salemina,"  said  Francesca  pru 
dently,  as  we  rumbled  along ;  "  though,  oddly 
enough,  if  you  remember,  whenever  any  one 
speaks  disparagingly  of  Ireland,  she  always  takes 
up  cudgels  in  its  behalf." 


74  Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

"  Francesca,  now  that  you  are  within  three  or 
four  months  of  being  married,  can  you  manage  to 
keep  a  secret  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  whispered  eagerly,  squeezing  my 
hand  and  inclining  her  shoulder  cosily  to  mine. 
"  Yes,  oh  yes,  and  how  it  would  raise  my  spirits 
after  a  sleepless  night !  " 

"  When  Salemina  was  eighteen  she  had  a  ro 
mance,  and  the  hero  of  it  was  the  son  of  an  Irish 
gentleman,  an  M.  P.,  who  was  traveling  in  Amer 
ica,  or  living  there  for  a  few  years,  —  I  can't  re 
member  which.  He  was  nothing  more  than  a  lad, 
less  than  twenty-one  years  old,  but  he  was  very 
much  in  love  with  Salemina.  How  far  her  feelings 
were  involved  I  never  knew,  but  she  felt  that  she 
could  not  promise  to  marry  him.  Her  mother 
was  an  invalid,  and  her  father  a  delightful,  schol 
arly,  autocratic,  selfish  old  gentleman,  who  ruled 
his  household  with  a  rod  of  iron.  Salemina  cod 
dled  and  nursed  them  both  during  all  her  young 
life  ;  indeed,  little  as  she  realized  it,  she  never 
had  any  separate  existence  or  individuality  until 
they  both  died,  when  she  was  thirty-one  or  two 
years  old." 

"  And  what  became  of  the  young  Irishman  ? 
Was  he  faithful  to  his  first  love,  or  did  he 
marry  ?  " 

"  He  married,  many  years  afterward,  and  that 
was  the  time  I  first  heard  the  story.  His  mar 
riage  took  place  in  Dublin,  on  the  very  day,  I  be- 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences  75 

lieve,  that  Salemina's  father  was  buried  ;  for  Fate 
has  the  most  relentless  way  of  arranging  these 
coincidences.  I  don't  remember  his  name,  and  I 
don't  know  where  he  lives  or  what  has  become  of 
him.  I  imagine  the  romance  has  been  dead  and 
buried  in  rose  leaves  for  years ;  Salemina  never 
has  spoken  of  it  to  me,  but  it  would  account  for 
her  sentimental  championship  of  Ireland." 


IX 

THE    LIGHT    OF    OTHER    DAYS 

"  Oft  in  the  stilly  night, 

Ere  slumber's  chain  has  bound  me, 
Fond  memory  brings  the  light 
Of  other  days  around  me." 

Thomas  Moore. 

IF  you  want  to  fall  head  over  ears  in  love  with 
Ireland  at  the  very  first  sight  of  her  charms, 
take,  as  we  did,  the  steamer  from  Cappoquin  to 
Youghal,  and  float  down  the  vale  of  the  Black- 
water,  — 

"  Swift  Awniduff,  which  of  the  Englishman 
Is  cal'  de  Black-water." 

The  shores  of  this  Irish  Rhine  are  so  lovely  that 
the  sail  on  a  sunny  day  is  one  of  unequaled 
charm.  Behind  us  the  mountains  ranged  them 
selves  in  a  mysterious  melancholy  background  ; 
ahead  the  river  wended  its  way  southward  in  and 
out,  in  and  out,  through  rocky  cliffs  and  well 
wooded  shores. 

The  first  tributary  stream  that  we  met  was  the 
little  Finisk,  on  the  higher  banks  of  which  is  Af- 
fane  House.  The  lands  of  Affane  are  said  to 
have  been  given  by  one  of  the  FitzGeralds  to  Sir 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences  77 

Walter  Raleigh  for  a  breakfast,  a  very  high  price 
to  pay  for  bacon  and  eggs,  and  it  was  here  that  he 
planted  the  first  cherry-tree  in  Ireland,  bringing  it 
from  the  Canary  Islands  to  the  Isle  of  Weeping. 

Looking  back  just  below  here,  we  saw  the  tower 
and  cloisters  of  Mount  Melleray,  the  Trappist 
monastery.  Very  beautiful  and  very  lonely 
looked  "  the  little  town  of  God,"  in  the  shadows 
of  the  gloomy  hills.  We  wished  we  had  known 
the  day  before  how  near  we  were  to  it,  for  we 
could  have  claimed  a  night's  lodging  at  the  la 
dies'  guest-house,  where  all  creeds,  classes,  and 
nationalities  are  received  with  a  ce ad-mil e-failte? 
and  where  any  offering  for  food  or  shelter  is  given 
only  at  the  visitor's  pleasure.  The  Celtic  pro 
verb,  "Melodious  is  the  closed  mouth,"  might  be 
written  over  the  cloisters ;  for  it  is  a  village  of 
silence,  and  only  the  monks  who  teach  in  the 
schools  or  who  attend  visitors  are  absolved  from 
the  vow. 

Next  came  Dromana  Castle,  where  the  extraor 
dinary  old  Countess  of  Desmond  was  born,  — 
the  wonderful  old  lady  whose  supposed  one  hun 
dred  and  ^forty  years  so  astonished  posterity. 
She  must  have  married  Thomas,  twelfth  Earl  of 
Desmond,  after  1505,  as  his  first  wife  is  known  to 
have  been  alive  in  that  year.  Raleigh  saw  her  in 
1589,  and  she  died  in  1604:  so  it  would  seem 
that  she  must  have  been  at  least  one  hundred  and 

1  Hundred  thousand  welcomes. 


78  Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

ten  or  one  hundred  and  twelve  when  she  met  her 
untimely  death,  —  a  death  brought  about  entirely 
by  her  own  youthful  impetuosity  and  her  fondness 
for  athletic  sports.  Robert  Sydney,  second  Earl  of 
Leicester,  makes  the  following  reference  to  her 
in  his  Table-Book,  written  when  he  was  ambas 
sador  at  Paris,  about  1640  :  — 

"  The  old  Countess  of  Desmond  was  a  marryed 
woman  in  Edward  IV.  time  in  England,  and  lived 
till  towards  the  end  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  s6  she 
must  needes  be  neare  one  hundred  and  forty 
yeares  old.  She  had  a  new  sett  of  teeth  not  long 
afore  her  death,  and  might  have  lived  much 
longer  had  she  not  mett  with  a  kinde  of  violent 
death ;  for  she  would  needes  climbe  a  nut-tree  to 
gather  nuts  ;  so  falling  down  she  hurt  her  thigh, 
which  brought  a  fever,  and  that  fever  brought 
death.  This,  my  cousin  Walter  Fitzwilliam  told 
me." 

It  is  true  that  the  aforesaid  cousin  Walter  may 
have  been  a  better  raconteur  than  historian  ;  still, 
local  tradition  vigorously  opposes  any  lessening  of 
the  number  of  the  countess's  years,  pinning  its 
faith  rather  on  one  Hayman,  who  says  that  she 
presented  herself  at  the  English  court  at  the  age 
of  one  hundred  and  forty  years,  to  petition  for  her 
jointure,  which  she  lost  by  the  attainder  of  the 
last  earl ;  and  it  also  prefers  to  have  her  fall  from 
the  historic  cherry-tree  that  Sir  Walter  planted, 
rather  than  from  a  casual  nut-tree. 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences  79 

Down  the  lovely  river  we  went,  lazily  lying 
back  in  the  sun,  almost  the  only  passengers  on 
the  little  craft,  as  it  was  still  far  too  early  for  tour 
ists  ;  down  past  Villierstown,  Cooneen  Ferry, 
Strancally  Castle,  with  its  "  Murdering  Hole " 
made  famous  by  the  Lords  of  Desmond,  through 
the  Broads  of  Clashmore  ;  then  past  Temple  Mi 
chael,  an  old  castle  of  the  Geraldines,  which  Crom 
well  battered  down  for  "  dire  insolence,"  until  we 
steamed  slowly  into  the  harbor  of  Youghal,  — 
and,  to  use  our  driver's  expression,  there  is  no 
more  "onderhanded  manin'  "  in  Youghal  than  the 
town  of  the  Yew  Wood,  which  is  much  prettier 
to  the  eye  and  sweeter  to  the  ear. 

Here  we  found  a  letter  from  Salemina,  and  ex 
pended  another  eighteen  pence  in  telegraphing  to 
her:  — 

PEABODY,  Coolkilla  House,  rte^ir  Mardyke  Walk, 

Cork. 

We  are  under  Yew  Tree  at  Myrtle  Grove 
where  Raleigh  and  Spenser  smoked  read  manu 
script  Faerie  Queene  and  planted  first  potato. 
Delighted  Benella  better.  Join  you  to-morrow. 
Don't  encourage  archaeologist. 

PENESCA. 

We  had  a  charming  hour  at  Myrtle  Grove 
House,  an  unpretentious  gabled  dwelling,  for  a 
time  the  residence  of  the  ill-fated  soldier  captain, 


8o  Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 


Sir  Walter  Raleigh.  You  remember,  perhaps, 
that  he  was  mayor  of  Youghal  in  1588.  After 
the  suppression  of  the  Geraldine  rebellion,  the 
vast  estates  of  the  Earl  of  Desmond  and  those  of 
one  hundred  and  forty  of  the  leading  gentlemen 
of  Munster,  his  adherents,  were  confiscated,  and 
proclamation  was  made  all  through  England  in 
viting  gentlemen  to  "  undertake  "  the  plantation 
of  this  rich  territory.  Estates  were  offered  at  two 
or  three  pence  an  acre,  and  no  rent  was  to  be  paid 
for  the  first  five  years.  Many  of  these  great  "un 
dertakers,"  as  they  were  called,  were  English  no 
blemen  who  never  saw  Ireland  ;  but  among  them 
were  Raleigh  and  Spenser,  who  received  forty- 
two  thousand  and  twelve  thousand  acres  respec 
tively,  and  in  consideration  of  certain  patronage 
"  undertook  "  to  carry  the  business  of  the  Crown 
through  Parliament. 

Francesca  was  greatly  pleased  with  this  infor 
mation,  culled  mostly  from  Joyce's  Child's  His 
tory  of  Ireland.  The  volume  had  been  bought 
in  Dublin  by  Salemina  and  presented  to  us  as  a 
piece  of  genial  humor,  but  it  became  our  daily 
companion. 

I  made  a  rhyme  for  her,  which  she  sent  Miss 
Peabody,  to  show  her  that  we  were  growing  in 
wisdom,  notwithstanding  our  separation  from 
her. 

"  You  have  thought  of  Sir  Walter  as  soldier  and  knight, 
Edmund  Spenser,  you  've  heard,  was  well  able  to  write  ; 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences  8 1 

But  Raleigh  the  planter,  and  Spenser  verse-maker, 
Each,  oddly  enough,  was  by  trade  '  Undertaker.' " 

It  was  in  1589  that  the  Shepherd  of  the  Ocean, 
as  Spenser  calls  him,  sailed  to  England  to  super 
intend  the  publishing  of  the  Faerie  Queene  :  so 
from  what  I  know  of  authors'  habits,  it  is  prob 
able  that  Spenser  did  read  him  the  poem  under 
the  Yew  Tree  in  Myrtle  Grove  garden.  It  seems 
long  ago,  does  it  not,  when  the  Faerie  Queene 
was  a  manuscript,  tobacco  just  discovered,  the 
potato  a  novelty,  and  the  first  Irish  cherry-tree 
just  a  wee  thing  newly  transplanted  from  the 
Canary  Islands  ?  Were  our  own  cherry-trees  al 
ready  in  America  when  Columbus  discovered  us, 
or  did  the  Pilgrim  Fathers  bring  over  "  slips  "  or 
"  grafts,"  knowing  that  they  would  be  needed  for 
George  Washington  later  on,  so  that  he  might 
furnish  an  untruthful  world  with  a  sublime  senti 
ment  ?  We  re-read  Salemina's  letter  under  the 
Yew  Tree  :  — 

COOLKILLA  HOUSE,  CORK. 

MY  DEAREST  GIRLS,  —  It  seems  years  instead 
of  days  since  we  parted,  and  I  miss  the  two  mad 
caps  more  than  I  can  say.  In  your  absence  my 
life  is  always  so  quiet,  discreet,  dignified,  —  and, 
yes,  I  confess  it,  so  monotonous  !  I  go  to  none 
but  the  best  hotels,  meet  none  but  the  best  peo 
ple,  and  my  timidity  and  conservatism  forever 
keep  me  in  conventional  paths.  Dazzled  and 
terrified  as  I  still  am  when  you  precipitate  adven- 


82  Penelope 's  IrisJi  Experiences 

tures  upon  me,  I  always  find  afterwards  that  I 
have  enjoyed  them  in  spite  of  my  fears.  Life 
without  you  is  like  a  stenographic  report  of  a 
dull  sermon  •  with  you  it  is  by  turns  a  dramatic 
story,  a  poem,  and  a  romance.  Sometimes  it  is 
a  penny-dreadful,  as  when  you  deliberately  leave 
your  luggage  on  an  express  train  going  south, 
enter  another  standing  upon  a  side  track,  and 
embark  for  an  unknown  destination.  I  watched 
you  from  an  upper  window  of  the  Junction  hotel, 
but  could  not  leave  Benella  to  argue  with  you. 
When  your  respected  husband  and  lover  have 
charge  of  you,  you  will  not  be  allowed  such 
pranks,  I  warrant  you  ! 

Benella  has  improved  wonderfully  in  the  last 
twenty-four  hours,  and  I  am  trying  to  give  her 
some  training  for  her  future  duties.  We  can 
never  forget  our  native  land  so  long  as  we  have 
her  with  us,  for  she  is  a  perfect  specimen  of  the 
Puritan  spinster,  though  too  young  in  years,  per 
haps,  for  determined  celibacy.  Do  you  know,  we 
none  of  us  mentioned  wages  in  our  conversations 
with  her  ?  Fortunately  she  seems  more  alive  to 
the  advantages  of  foreign  travel  than  to  the  filling 
of  her  empty  coffers.  (By  the  way,  I  have  written 
to  the  purser  of  the  ship  that  she  crossed  in,  to 
see  if  I  can  recover  the  sixty  or  seventy  dollars 
she  left  behind  her.)  Her  principal  idea  in  life 
seems  to  be  that  of  finding  some  kind  of  work  that 
will  be  "  interestin'  "  whether  it  is  lucrative  or  not. 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences  83 

I  don't  think  she  will  be  able  to  dress  hair,  or 
anything  of  that  sort,  —  save  in  the  way  of  plain 
sewing,  she  is  very  unskillful  with  her  hands  ; 
and  she  will  be  of  no  use  as  courier,  she  is  so 
provincial  and  inexperienced.  She  has  no  head 
for  business  whatever,  and  cannot  help  Francesca 
with  the  accounts.  She  recites  to  herself  again 
and  again,  "  Four  farthings  make  one  penny, 
twelve  pence  make  one  shilling,  twenty  shillings 
make  one  pound  ; "  but  when  I  give  her  a  hand 
ful  of  money  and  ask  her  for  six  shillings  and 
sixpence,  five  and  three,  one  pound  two,  or  two 
pound  ten,  she  cannot  manage  the  operation. 
She  is  docile,  well  mannered,  grateful,  and  really 
likable,  but  her  present  philosophy  of  life  is  a 
thing  of  shreds  and  patches.  She  calls  it  "the 
science,"  as  if  there  were  but  one ;  and  she  be 
came  a  convert  to  its  teachings  this  past  winter, 
while  living  in  the  house  of  a  woman  lecturer  in 
Salem,  a  lecturer,  not  a  "curist,"  she  explains. 
She  attended  to  the  door,  ushered  in  the  members 
of  classes,  kept  the  lecture  room  in  order,  and  so 
forth,  imbibing  by  the  way  various  doctrines,  or 
parts  of  doctrines,  which  she  is  not  the  sort  of 
person  to  assimilate,  but  with  which  she  is  experi 
menting  :  holding,  meantime,  a  grim  intuition  of 
their  foolishness,  or  so  it  seems  to  me.  "The 
science  "  made  it  easier  for  her  to  seek  her  ances 
tors  in  a  foreign  country  with  only  a  hundred 
dollars  in  her  purse ;  for  the  Salem  priestess  pro- 


84  Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

claims  the  glad  tidings  that  all  the  wealth  of  the 
world  is  ours,  if  we  will  but  assert  our  heirship. 
Benella  believed  this  more  or  less  until  a  week's 
seasickness  undermined  all  her  new  convictions 
of  every  sort.  When  she  woke  in  the  little  bed 
room  at  O'Carolan's,  she  says,  her  heart  was  quite 
at  rest,  for  she  knew  that  we  were  the  kind  of 
people  one  could  rely  on  !  I  mustered  courage 
to  say,  "  I  hope  so,  and  I  hope  also  that  we  shall 
be  able  to  rely  upon  you,  Benella  !  " 

This  idea  evidently  had  not  occurred  to  her,  bilt 
she  accepted  it,  and  I  could  see  that  she  turned 
it  over  in  her  mind.  You  can  imagine  that  this 
vague  philosophy  of  a  Salem  woman  scientist  su 
perimposed  on  a  foundation  of  orthodoxy  makes 
a  curious  combination,  and  one  which  will  only 
be  temporary. 

We  shall  expect  you  to-morrow  evening,  and 
we  shall  be  quite  ready  to  go  on  to  the  Lakes  of 
Killarney  or  wherever  you  wish.  By  the  way,  I 
met  an  old  acquaintance  the  morning  I  arrived 
here.  I  went  to  see  Queen's  College ;  and  as  I 
was  walking  under  the  archway  which  has  carved 
upon  it,  "  Where  Finbarr  taught  let  Munster 
learn,"  I  saw  two  gentlemen.  They  looked  like 
professors,  and  I  asked  if  I  might  see  the  college. 
They  said  certainly,  and  offered  to  take  my  card 
in  to  some  one  who  would  do  the  honors  properly. 
I  passed  it  to  one  of  them  :  we  looked  at  each 
other,  and  recognition  was  mutual.  He  (Dr. 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences  85 

La  Touche)  is  giving  a  course  of  lectures  here 
on  Irish  Antiquities.  It  has  been  a  great  privi 
lege  to  see  this  city  and  its  environs  with  so 
learned  a  man ;  I  wish  you  could  have  shared  it. 
Yesterday  he  made  up  a  party  and  we  went  to 
Passage,  which  you  may  remember  in  Father 
Prout's  verses  :  — 

"  The  town  of  Passage  is  both  large  and  spacious, 

And  situated  upon  the  say  ; 
'Tis  nate  and  dacent.  and  quite  adjacent 

To  come  from  Cork  on  a  summer's  day. 
There  you  may  slip  in  and  take  a  dippin' 

Foment  the  shippin'  that  at  anchor  ride  ; 
Or  in  a  wherry  cross  o?er  the  ferry 

To  Carrigaloe,  on  the  other  side." 

Dr.  La  Touche  calls  Father  Prout  an  Irish  potato 
seasoned  with  Attic  salt.  Is  not  that  a  good 
characterization  ? 

Good-by  for  the  moment,  as  I  must  see  about 
Benella's  luncheon. 

Yours  affectionately,  S.  P. 


THE    BELLES    OF    SHANDON 

''  The  spreading  Lee  that,  like  an  Island  fayre, 
Encloseth  Corke  with  his  divided  floode." 

Edmund  Spenser. 

WE  had  seen  all  that  Youghal  could  offer  to 
the  tourist ;  we  were  yearning  for  Salemina ;  we 
wanted  to  hear  Benella  talk  about  "  the  science  : " 
we  were  eager  to  inspect  the  archaeologist,  to  see  if 
he  "  would  do  "  for  Salemina  instead  of  the  canon, 
or  even  the  minor  canon,  of  the  English  Church, 
for  whom  we  had  always  privately  destined  her. 
Accordingly  we  decided  to  go  by  an  earlier  train, 
and  give  our  family  a  pleasant  surprise.  It  was 
five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  when  our  car  trundled 
across  St.  Patrick's  Bridge,  past  Father  Mathew's 
statue,  and  within  view  of  the  church  and  bells  of 
Shandon,  that  sound  so  grand  on  the  pleasant 
waters  of  the  river  Lee.  Away  to  the  west  is  the 
two-armed  river.  Along  its  banks  rise  hills,  green 
and  well  wooded,  with  beautiful  gardens  and  ver 
dant  pastures  reaching  to  the  very  brink  of  the 
shining  stream. 

It  was  Saturday  afternoon,  and  I  never  drove 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences  87 

through  a  livelier,  quainter,  more  easy-going  town. 
The  streets  were  full  of  people  selling  various 
things  and  plying  various  trades,  and  among 
them  we  saw  many  a  girl  pretty  enough  to  recall 
Thackeray's  admiration  of  the  Corkagian  beauties 
of  his  day.  There  was  one  in  particular,  driving 
a  donkey  in  a  straw-colored  governess  cart,  to 
whose  graceful  charm  we  succumbed  on  the  in 
stant.  There  was  an  exquisite  deluderin'  wildness 
about  her,  a  vivacity,  a  length  of  eyelash  with  a 
gleam  of  Irish  gray  eye,  "  the  grayest  of  all  things 
blue,  the  bluest  of  all  things  gray,"  that  might 
well  have  inspired  the  English  poet  to  write  of 
her  as  he  did  of  his  own  Irish  wife ;  for  Spenser, 
when  he  was  not  writing  the  Faerie  Queene  or 
smoking  Raleigh's  fragrant  weed,  wooed  and 
wedded  a  fair  colleen  of  County  Cork. 

"  Tell  me,  ye  merchant  daughters,  did  ye  see 
So  fayre  a  creature  in  your  town  before  ? 
Her  goodlie  eyes,  like  sapphyres  shining  bright ; 
Her  forehead,  ivory  white  ; 
Her  lips  like  cherries,  charming  men  to  byte." 

Now  we  turned  into  the  old  Mardyke  walk,  a 
rus  in  tirbe,  an  avenue  a  mile  long  lined  with 
noble  elm-trees ;  forsaken  now  as  a  fashionable 
promenade  for  the  Marina,  but  still  beautiful  and 
still  beloved,  though  frequented  chiefly  by  nurse 
maids  and  children.  Such  babies  and  such  chil 
dren,  of  all  classes  and  conditions,  —  so  jolly, 
smiling,  dimpled,  curly-headed  ;  such  joyous  dis 
regard  of  rags  and  dirt;  such  kindness  one  to 


88  Penelope 's  IrisJi  Experiences 


the  other  in  the  little  groups,  where  a  child  of 
ten  would  be  giving  an  anxious  eye  to  four  or 
five  brothers  and  sisters,  and  mothering  a  con 
tented  baby  in  arms  as  well. 

Our  driver,  though  very  loquacious,  was  not 
quite  intelligible.  He  pronounced  the  simple 
phrase  "  St.  Patrick  Street  "  in  a  way  to  astonish 
the  traveler  ;  it  would  seem  impossible  to  crowd 
as  many  >#'s  into  three  words,  and  to  wrap  each 
in  flannel,  as  he  succeeded  in  doing.  He  seemed 
pleased  with  our  admiration  of  the  babies,  and 
said  that  Irish  children  did  be  very  fat  and 
strong  and  hearty ;  that  they  were  the  very  best 
soldiers  the  Queen  had,  God  kape  her  !•  they 
could  stand  anny  hardship  and  anny  climate,  for 
they  were  not  brought  up  soft,  like  the  English. 
He  also  said  that,  fine  as  all  Irish  children  un 
doubtedly  were,  Cork  produced  the  flower  of 
them  all,  and  the  finest  women  and  the  finest 
men ;  backing  his  opinion  with  a  Homeric  vaunt 
which  Francesca  took  down  on  the  spot :  — 

"  I  'd  back  one  man  from  Corkshire 
To  bate  ten  more  from  Yorkshire  : 

Kerrymen 

Agin  Derrymen, 
And  Munster  agin  creation. 
Wirrasthrue !  't  is  a  pity  we  are  n't  a  nation  !  " 

Here  he  slackened  his  pace  as  we  passed  a  small 
bosthoon  driving  a  donkey,  to  call  out  facetiously, 
"  Be  good  to  your  little  brother,  achree  !  " 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences  89 

"  We  must  be  very  near  Coolkilla  House  by 
this  time,"  said  Francesca.  "  That  is  n't  Sale- 
mina  sitting  on  the  bench  under  the  trees,  is  it  ? 
There  is  a  gentleman  with  her,  and  she  never 
wears  a  wide  hat,  but  it  looks  like  her  red  um 
brella.  No,  of  course  it  is  n't,  for  whoever  it  is 
belongs  to  that  maid  with  the  two  children.  Pe 
nelope,  it  is  borne  in  upon  me  that  we  should  n't 
have  come  here  unannounced,  three  hours  ahead 
of  the  time  arranged.  Perhaps,  whenever  we  had 
chosen  to  come,  it  would  have  been  too  soon. 
Wouldn't  it  be  exciting  to  have  to  keep  out  of 
Salemina's  way,  as  she  has  always  done  for  us  ? 
I  could  n't  endure  it ;  it  would  make  me  home 
sick  for  Ronald.  Go  slowly,  driver,  please." 

Nevertheless,  as  we  drew  nearer  we  saw  that  it 
was  Salemina ;  or  at  least  it  was  seven  eighths  of 
her,  and  one  eighth  of  a  new  person  with  whom 
we  were  not  acquainted.  She  rose  to  meet  us 
with  an  exclamation  of  astonishment,  and  after  a 
hasty  and  affectionate  greeting  presented  Dr.  La 
Touche.  He  said  a  few  courteous  words,  and  to 
our  relief  made  no  allusions  to  round  towers, 
duns,  raths,  or  other  antiquities,  and  bade  us 
adieu,  saying  that  he  should  have  the  honor  of 
waiting  upon  us  that  evening  with  our  permis 
sion. 

A  person  in  a  neat  black  dress  and  little  black 
bonnet  with  white  lawn  strings  now  brought  up 
the  two  children  to  say  good-by  to  Salemina.  It 


90  Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

was  the  Derelict,  Benella  Dusenberry,  clothed  in 
maid's  apparel  and  looking,  notwithstanding  that 
disguise,  like  a  New  England  schoolma'am.  She 
was  delighted  to  see  us,  scanned  every  detail  of 
Francesca's  traveling  costume  with  the  frankest 
admiration,  and  would  have  allowed  us  to  carry 
our  wraps  and  umbrellas  upstairs  if  she  had  not 
been  reminded  by  Salemina.  We  had  a  cosy  cup 
of  tea  together,  and  told  our  various  adventures, 
but  Salemina  was  not  especially  communicative 
about  hers.  Oddly  enough,  she  had  met  the  La 
Touche  children  at  the  hotel  in  Mallow.  They 
were  traveling  with  a  very  raw  Irish  nurse,  who 
had  no  control  over  them  whatever.  They 
shrieked  and  kicked  when  taken  to  their  rooms 
at  night,  until  Salemina  was  obliged  to  speak  to 
them,  in  order  that  Benella's  .rest  should  not  be 
disturbed. 

"  I  felt  so  sorry  for  them,"  she  said,.  —  "  the 
dear  little  girl  put  to  bed  with  tangled  hair  and 
unwashed  face,  the  boy  in  a  rumpled,  untidy 
nightgown,  the  bedclothes  in  confusion.  I  did  n't 
know  who  they  were  nor  where  they  came  from, 
but  while  the  nurse  was  getting  her  supper  I 
made  them  comfortable,  and  Broona  went  to 
sleep  with  my  strange  hand  in  hers.  Perhaps  it 
was  only  the  warm  Irish  heart,  the  easy  friendli 
ness  of  the  Irish  temperament,  but  I  felt  as  if 
the  poor  little  things  must  be  neglected  indeed, 
or  they  would  not  have  clung  to  a  woman  whom 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences          91 

they  had  never  seen  before."  (This  is  a  mis 
take  ;  anybody  who  has  the  opportunity  always 
clings  to  Salemina.)  "  The  next  morning  they 
were  up  at  daylight,  romping  in  the  hall,  stamp 
ing,  thumping,  clattering,  with  a  tin  cart  on 
wheels  rattling  behind  them.  I  know  it  was  not 
my  affair,  and  I  was  guilty  of  unpardonable  rude 
ness,  but  I  called  the  nurse  into  my  room  and 
spoke  to  her  severely.  No,  you  need  n't  smile  ; 
I  was  severe.  *  Will  you  kindly  do  your  duty  and 
keep  the  children  quiet  as  they  pass  through  the 
halls  ? '  I  said.  *  It  is  never  too  soon  to  teach 
them  to  obey  the  rules  of  a  public  place,  and  to 
be  considerate  of  older  people.'  She  seemed 
awestruck.  But  when  she  found  her  tongue  she 
stammered,  '  Sure,  ma'am,  I  Jve  tould  thim  three 
times  this  day  already  that  when  their  father 
comes  he  '11  bate  thim  with  a  blackthorn  stick  ! ' 

"  Naturally  I  was  horrified.  This,  I  thought, 
would  explain  everything :  no  mother,  and  an 
irritable,  cruel  father. 

" '  Will  he  really  do  such  a  thing  ? '  I  asked, 
feeling  as  if  I  must  know  the  truth. 

" '  Sure  he  will  not,  ma'am  !  '  she  answered 
cheerfully.  *  He  wouldn't  lift  a  feather  to  thim, 
not  if  they  murdthered  the  whole  counthryside, 
ma'am.' 

"  Well,  they  traveled  third  class  to  Cork,  and 
we  came  first,  so  we  did  not  meet,  and  I  did  not 
ask  their  surnames  ;  but  it  seems  that  they  were 


92  Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

being  brought  to  their  father,  whom  I  met  many 
years  ago  in  America." 

As  she  did  not  volunteer  any  further  informa 
tion,  we  did  not  like  to  ask  her  where,  how  many 
years  ago,  or  under  what  circumstances.  "  Teas 
ing  "  of  this  sort  does  not  appeal  to  the  sophis 
ticated  at  any  time,  but  it  seems  unspeakably 
vulgar  to  touch  on  matters  of  sentiment  with  a 
woman  of  middle  age.  If  she  has  memories, 
they  are  sure  to  be  sad  and  sacred  ones  ;  if  she 
has  not,  that  perhaps  is  still  sadder.  We  agreed, 
however,  when  the  evening  was  over,  that  Dr.  La 
Touche  was  probably  the  love  of  her  youth,  — 
unless  indeed  he  was  simply  an  old  friend,  and 
the  degree  of  Salemina's  attachment  had  been 
exaggerated ;  something  that  is  very  likely  to 
happen  in  the  gossip  of  a  New  England  town, 
where  they  always  incline  to  underestimate  the 
feeling  of  the  man,  and  overrate  that  of  the 
woman,  in  any  love  affair.  "  I  guess  she  'd  take 
him  if  she  could  get  him  "  is  the  spoken  or  un 
spoken  attitude  of  the  public  in  rural  or  provin 
cial  New  England. 

The  professor  is  grave,  but  very  genial  when  he 
fully  recalls  the  fact  that  he  is  in  company,  and 
has  not,  like  the  Trappist  monks,  taken  vows  of 
silence.  Francesca  behaved  beautifully,  on  the 
whole,  and  made  no  embarrassing  speeches,  al 
though  she  was  in  her  gayest  humor.  Salemina 
blushed  a  little  when  the  young  sinner  dragged 


Penelope  s  frisk  Experiences  93 

into  the  conversation  the  remark  that,  undoubt 
edly,  from  the  beginning  of  the  sixth  century  to 
the  end  of  the  eighth  Ireland  was  the  university  of 
Europe,  just  as  Greece  was  in  the  late  days  of 
the  Roman  Republic,  and  asked  our  guest  when 
Ireland  ceased  to  be  known  as  "  Insula  sanctorum 
et  doctorum"  the  island  of  saints  and  scholars. 

We  had  seen  her  go  into  Salemina's  bedroom, 
and  knew  perfectly  well  that  she  had  consulted 
the  Peabody  notebook,  lying  open  on  the  desk  ; 
but  the  professor  looked  as  surprised  as  if  he  had 
heard  a  pretty  paroquet  quote  Gibbon.  I  don't 
like  to  see  grave  and  reverend  scholars  stare  at 
pretty  paroquets,  but  I  won't  belittle  Salemina's 
exquisite  and  peculiar  charm  by  worrying  over  the 
matter. 

"  Wirra,  wirra  !  Ologone  ! 

Can't  ye  lave  a  lad  alone, 
Till  he  's  proved  there  's  no  tradition  left  of  any  other  girl  — 

Not  even  Trojan  Helen, 

In  beauty  all  excellin'  — 
Who  's  been  up  to  half  the  divilment  of  Fan  Fitzgerl  ?  " 

Of  course  Francesca's  heart  is  fixed  upon  Ro 
nald  Macdonald,  but  that  fact  has  not  altered 
the  glance  of  her  eyes.  They  no  longer  say, 
"  Would  n't  you  like  to  fall  in  love  with  me,  if  you 
dared  ?  "  but  they  still  have  a  gleam  that  means, 
"  Don't  fall  in  love  with  me ;  it  is  no  use !  "  And 
of  the  two,  one  is  about  as  dangerous  as  the 
other,  and  each  has  something  of  "  Fan  FitzgerPs 
divilment." 


94  Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

"  Wid  her  brows  of  silky  black 
Arched  above  for  the  attack, 

Her  eyes  they  dart  such  azure  death  on  poor  admiring  man  ; 
Masther  Cupid,  point  your  arrows, 
From  this  out,  agin  the  sparrows, 
For  you  're  bested  at  Love's  archery  by  young  Miss  Fan." 

Of  course  Himself  never  fell  a  prey  to  Fran- 
cesca's  fascinations,  but  then  he  is  not  suscepti 
ble  ;  you  could  send  him  off  for  a  ten-mile  drive 
in  the  moonlight  with  Venus  herself,  and  not  be 
in  the  least  anxious. 

Dr.  La  Touche  is  gray  for  his  years,  tall  and 
spare  in  frame,  and  there  are  many  lines  of  anx 
iety  or  thought  in  his  forehead;  but  a  wonderful 
smile  occasionally  smooths  them  all  out,  and  gives 
his  face  a  rare  though  transient  radiance.  He 
looks  to  me  as  if  he  had  loved  too  many  books 
and  too  few  people ;  as  if  he  had  tried  vainly  to 
fill  his  heart  and  life  with  antiquities,  which  of 
all  things,  perhaps,  are  the  most  bloodless,  the 
least  warming  and  nourishing  when  taken  in  ex 
cess  or  as  a  steady  diet.  Himself  (God  bless 
him  !)  shall  never  have  that  patient  look,  if  I  can 
help  it ;  but  how  it  will  appeal  to  Salemina ! 
There  are  women  who  are  born  to  be  petted  and 
served,  and  there  are  those  who  seem  born  to 
serve  others.  Salemina's  first  idea  is  always  to 
make  tangled  things  smooth  (like  little  Broona's 
curly  hair)  ;  to  bring  sweet  and  discreet  order  out 
of  chaos  ;  to  prune  and  graft  and  water  and 
weed  and  tend  things,  until  they  blossom  for 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences  95 

very  shame  under  her  healing  touch.  Her  mind 
is  catholic,  well  ordered,  and  broad,  —  always  full 
of  other  people's  interests,  never  of  her  own  ;  and 
her  heart  always  seems  to  me  like  some  dim, 
sweet-scented  guest-chamber  in  an  old  New  Eng 
land  mansion,  cool  and  clean  and  quiet,  and  fra 
grant  of  lavender.  It  has  been  a  lovely,  generous 
life,  lived  for  the  most  part  in  the  shadow  of  other 
people's  wishes  and  plans  and  desires.  I  am  an 
impatient  person,  I  confess,  and  heaven  seems  so 
far  away  when  certain  things  are  in  question  : 
the  righting  of  a  child's  wrong,  or  the  demolition 
of  a  barrier  between  two  hearts ;  above  all,  for 
certain  surgical  operations,  more  or  less  spiritual, 
such  as  removing  scales  from  eyes  that  refuse  to 
see,  and  stops  from  ears  too  dull  to  hear.  No 
body  shall  have  our  Salemina  unless  he  is  worthy, 
but  how  I  should  like  to  see  her  life  enriched  and 
crowned !  How  I  should  enjoy  having  her  dear 
little  overworn  second  fiddle  taken  from  her  by 
main  force,  and  a  beautiful  first  violin,  or  even 
the  baton  for  leading  an  orchestra,  put  into  her 
unselfish  hands  ! 

And  so  good-by  and  "  good  luck  to  ye,  Cork, 
and  your  pepper-box  steeple,"  for  we  leave  you 
to-morrow ! 


XI 


"  Her  ancestors  were  kings  before  Moses  was  born, 
Her  mother  descended  from  great  Grana  Uaile." 

Charles  Lever. 

KNOCKARNEY  HOUSE,  LOUGH  LEIN. 

WE  are  in  the  province  of  Munster,  the  king 
dom  of  Kerry,  the  town  of  Ballyfuchsia,  and  the 
house  of  Mrs.  Mullarkey.  Knockarney  House  is 
not  her  name  for  it ;  I  made  it  myself.  Killar- 
ney  is  church  of  the  sloe-trees  ;  and  as  kill  is 
church,  the  "  onderhanded  manin'  "  of  "  arney  " 
must  be  something  about  sloes ;  then,  since 
knock  means  hill,  Knockarney  should  be  hill  of 
the  sloe-trees. 

I  have  not  lost  the  memory  of  Jenny  Geddes 
and  Tarn  o'  the  Cowgate,  but  Penelope  O'Con 
nor,  daughter  of  the  king  of  Connaught,  is  more 
frequently  present  in  my  dreams.  I  have  by  no 
means  forgotten  that  there  was  a  time  when  I  was 
not  Irish,  but  for  the  moment  I  am  of  the  turf, 
turfy.  Francesca  is  really  as  much  in  love  with 
Ireland  as  I,  only,  since  she  has  in  her  heart  a 
certain  tender  string  pulling  her  all  the  while  to 
the  land  of  the  heather,  she  naturally  avoids  com- 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences  97 

parisons.  Salemina,  too,  endeavors  to  appear 
neutral,  lest  she  should  betray  an  inexplicable 
interest  in  Dr.  La  Touche's  country.  Benella  and 
I  alone  are  really  free  to  speak  the  brogue,  and 
carry  our  wild  harps  slung  behind  us,  like 
Moore's  minstrel  boy.  Nothing  but  the  igno 
rance  of  her  national  dishes  keeps  Benella  from 
entire  allegiance  to  this  island  ;  but  she  thinks  a 
people  who  have  grown  up  without  a  knowledge 
of  doughnuts,  baked  beans,  and  blueberry  pie 
must  be  lacking  in  moral  foundations.  There  is 
nothing  extraordinary  in  all  this ;  for  the  Irish, 
like  the  Celtic  tribes  everywhere,  have  always 
had  a  sort  of  fascinating  power  over  people  of 
other  races  settling  among  them,  so  that  they 
become  completely  fused  with  the  native  popula 
tion,  and  grow  to  be  more  Irish  than  the  Irish 
themselves. 

We  stayed  for  a  few  days  in  the  best  hotel ;  it 
really  was  quite  good,  and  not  a  bit  Irish.  There 
was  a  Swiss  manager,  an  English  housekeeper,  a 
French  head  waiter,  and  a  German  office  clerk. 
Even  Salemina,  who  loves  comforts,  saw  that  we 
should  not  be  getting  what  is  known  as  the  real 
thing,  under  these  circumstances,  and  we  came 
here  to  this  —  what  shall  I  call  Knockarney 
House  ?  It  was  built  originally  for  a  fishing 
lodge  by  a  sporting  gentleman,  who  brought 
parties  of  friends  to  stop  for  a  week.  On  his 
death  it  passed  somehow  into  Mrs.  Mullarkey's 


98  Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

fair  hands,  and  in  a  fatal  moment  she  determined 
to  open  it  occasionally  to  "  paying  guests,"  who 
might  wish  a  quiet  home  far  from  the  madding 
crowd  of  the  summer  tourist.  This  was  exactly 
what  we  did  want,  and  here  we  encamped,  on  the 
half-hearted  advice  of  some  Irish  friends  in  the 
town,  who  knew  nothing  else  more  comfortable  to 
recommend. 

"  With  us,  small,  quiet,  or  out-of-the-way  places 
are  never  clean  ;  or  if  they  are,  then  they  are  not 
Irish,"  they  said.  "  You  had  better  see  Ireland 
from  the  tourist's  point  of  view  for  a  few  years 
yet,  until  we  have  learned  the  art  of  living ;  but 
if  you  are  determined  to  know  the  humors  of  the 
people,  cast  all  thought  of  comfort  behind  you." 

So  we  did,  and  we  afterward  thought  that  this 
would  be  a  good  motto  for  Mrs.  Mullarkey  to 
carve  over  the  door  of  Knockarney  House.  (My 
name  for  it  is  adopted  more  or  less  by  the  family, 
though  Francesca  persists  in  dating  her  letters  to 
Ronald  from  "The  Rale  Thing,"  which  it  un 
doubtedly  is.)  We  take  almost  all  the  rooms  in 
the  house,  but  there  are  a  few  other  guests.  Mrs. 
Waterford,  an  old  lady  of  ninety-three,  from 
Mullinavat,  is  here  primarily  for  her  health,  and 
secondarily  to  dispose  of  threepenny  shares  in 
an  antique  necklace,  which  is  to  be  raffled  for  the 
benefit  of  a  Roman  Catholic  chapel.  Then  we 
have  a  fishing  gentleman  and  his  bride  from 
Glasgow,  and  occasional  bicyclers  who  come  in 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences  99 

for  a  dinner,  a  tea,  or  a  lodging.  These  three  com 
forts  of  a  home  are  sometimes  quite  indistinguish 
able  with  us  :  the  tea  is  frequently  made  up  of 
fragments  of  dinner,  and  the  beds  are  always 
sprinkled  with  crumbs.  Their  source  is  a  mystery, 
unless  they  fall  from  the  clothing  of  the  chamber 
maids,  who  frequently  drop  hairpins  and  brooches 
and  buttons  between  the  sheets,  and  strew  whisk 
brooms  and  scissors  under  the  blankets. 

We  have  two  general  servants,  who  are  supposed 
to  do  all  the  work  of  the  house,  and  who  are  as 
amiable  and  obliging  and  incapable  as  they  well 
can  be.  Oonah  generally  waits  upon  the  table, 
and  Molly  cooks ;  at  least  she  cooks  now  and 
then  when  she  is  not  engaged  with  Peter  in  the 
vegetable  garden  or  the  stable.  But  whatever 
happens,  Mrs.  Mullarkey,  as  a  descendant  of  one 
of  the  Irish  kings,  is  to  be  looked  upon  only  as 
an  inspiring  ideal,  inciting  one  to  high  and  ever 
higher  flights  of  happy  incapacity.  Benella  osten 
sibly  oversees  the  care  of  our  rooms,  but  she  is 
comparatively  helpless  in  such  a  kingdom  of  mis 
rule.  Why  demand  clean  linen  when  there  is 
none  ;  why  seek  for  a  towel  at  midday  when  it  is 
never  ironed  until  evening ;  how  sweep  when  a 
broom  is  all  inadequate  to  the  task  ?  Salemina's 
usual  remark,  on  entering  a  humble  hostelry  any 
where,  is :  "  If  the  hall  is  as  dirty  as  this,  what 
must  the  kitchen  be  !  Order  me  two  hard-boiled 
eggs,  please  !  " 


ioo         Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

"  Use  your  'science,'  Benella,"  I  say  to  that 
discouraged  New  England  maiden,  who  has  never 
looked  at  her  philosophy  from  its  practical  or 
humorous  side.  "If  the  universe  is  pure  mind 
and  there  is  no  matter,  then  this  dirt  is  not  a  real 
thing,  after  all.  It  seems,  of  course,  as  if  it 
were  thicker  under  the  beds  and  bureaus  than 
elsewhere,  but  I  suppose  our  evil  thoughts  focus 
themselves  there  rather  than  in  the  centre  of  the 
room.  Similarly,  if  the  broom  handle  is  broken, 
deny  the  dirt  away,  —  denial  is  much  less  labo 
rious  than  sweeping ;  bring  '  the  science '  down  to 
these  simple  details  of  everyday  life,  and  you  will 
make  converts  by  dozens,  only  pray  don't  remove, 
either  by  suggestion  or  any  cruder  method,  the 
large  key  that  lies  near  the  table  leg,  for  it  is  a 
landmark ;  and  there  is  another,  a  crochet  needle, 
by  the  washstand,  devoted  to  the  same  purpose. 
I  wish  to  show  them  to  the  Mullarkey  when  we 
leave." 

Under  our  educational  regime,  the  "  metaphy 
sical  "  veneer,  badly  applied  in  the  first  place, 
and  wholly  unsuited  to  the  foundation  material, 
is  slowly  disappearing,  and  our  Benella  is  gradu 
ally  returning  to  her  normal  self.  Perhaps  no 
thing  has  been  more  useful  to  her  development 
than  the  confusion  of  Knockarney  House. 

Our  windows  are  supported  on  decrepit  tennis 
rackets  and  worn-out  hearth  brushes  ;  the  blinds 
refuse  to  go  up  or  down  ;  the  chairs  have  weak 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences          101 

backs  or  legs ;  the  door  knobs  are  disassociated 
from  their  handles.  As  for  our  food,  we  have 
bacon  and  eggs,  with  coffee  made,  I  should  think, 
of  brown  beans  and  licorice,  for  breakfast ;  a  bit 
of  sloppy  chicken,  or  fish  and  potato,  with  cus 
tard  pudding  or  stewed  rhubarb,  for  dinner ;  and 
a  cold  supper  of — oh  !  anything  that  occurs  to 
Molly  at  the  last  moment.  Nothing  ever  occurs 
either  to  Molly  or  Oonah  at  any  previous  mo 
ment,  and  in  that  they  are  merely  conforming 
to  the  universal  habit.  Last  week,  when  we 
were  starting  for  Valencia  Island,  the  Bally- 
fuchsia  station  master  was  absent  at  a  funeral  • 
meantime  the  engine  had  "  gone  cold  on  the  en 
gineer,"  and  the  train  could  not  leave  till  twelve 
minutes  after  the  usual  time.  We  thought  we 
must  have  consulted  a  wrong  time-table,  and 
asked  confirmation  of  a  man  who  seemed  to  have 
some  connection  with  the  railway.  Goaded  by 
his  ignorance,  I  exclaimed,  "Is  it  possible  you 
don't  know  the  time  the  trains  are  going  ?  " 

"  Begorra,  how  should  I  ?  "  he  answered. 
"  Faix,  the  thrains  don't  always  be  knowin' 
thimselves  !  " 

The  starting  of  the  daily  "  Mail  Express  "  from 
Ballyfuchsia  is  a  time  of  great  excitement  and 
confusion,  which  on  some  occasions  increases  to 
positive  panic.  The  station  master,  armed  with 
a  large  dinner  bell,  stands  on  the  platform,  wear 
ing  an  expression  of  anxiety  ludicrously  unsuited 


IO2         Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

to  the  situation.  The  supreme  moment  had 
really  arrived  some  time  before,  but  he  is  waiting 
for  Farmer  Brodigan  with  his  daughter  Kathleen, 
and  the  Widdy  Sullivan,  and  a  few  other  local 
worthies  who  are  a  "  thrifle  late  on  him."  Finally 
they  come  down  the  hill,  and  he  paces  up  and 
down  the  station  ringing  the  bell  and  uttering  the 
warning  cry,  "  This  thrain  never  shtops !  This 
thrain  never  shtops  !  This  thrain  never  shtops  !  "  — 
giving  one  the  idea  that  eternity,  instead  of  Kil- 
larney,  must  be  the  final  destination  of  the  pas 
sengers.  The  clock  in  the  Ballyfuchsia  telegraph 
and  post  office  ceases  to  go  for  twenty-four  hours 
at  a  time,  and  nobody  heeds  it,  while  the  post 
man  always  has  a  few  moments'  leisure  to  lay 
down  his  knapsack  of  letters  and  pitch  quoits 
with  the  Royal  Irish  Constabulary.  However, 
punctuality  is  perhaps  an  individual  virtue  more 
than  an  exclusively  national  one.  I  am  not  sure 
that  we  Americans  would  not  be  more  agreeable 
if  we  spent  a  month  in  Ireland  every  year,  and 
perhaps  Ireland  would  profit  from  a  month  in 
America. 

At  the  Brodigans'  (Mr.  Brodigan  is  a  large 
farmer,  and  our  nearest  neighbor)  all  the  clocks 
are  from  ten  to  twenty  minutes  fast  or  slow ;  and 
what  a  peaceful  place  it  is  !  The  family  does  n't 
care  when  it  has  its  dinner,  and,  mirabile  dictu, 
the  cook  does  n't  care  either  ! 

"  If  you  have  no  exact  time  to  depend  upon, 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences         103 

how  do  you  catch  trains  ? "  I  asked  Mr.  Brodi- 
gan. 

"  Sure  that 's  not  an  everyday  matter,  and  why 
be  foostherin'  over  it  ?  But  we  do,  four  times 
out  o'  five,  ma'am !  " 

"  How  do  you  like  it  that  fifth  time  when  you 
miss  it  ?  " 

"  Sure  it 's  no  more  throuble  to  you  to  miss  it 
the  wan  time  than  to  hurry  five  times  !  A  clock 
is  an  overrated  piece  of  furniture,  to  my  mind, 
Mrs.  Beresford,  ma'am.  A  man  can  ate  whin 
he 's  hungry,  go  to  bed  whin  he  's  sleepy,  and  get 
up  whin  he  's  slept  long  enough  ;  for  faith  and 
it 's  thim  clocks  he  has  inside  of  himself  that 
don't  need  anny  winding  !  " 

"  What  if  you  had  a  business  appointment  with 
a  man  in  the  town,  and  missed  the  train  ? "  I  per 
severed. 

"  Trains  is  like  misfortunes  ;  they  never  come 
singly,  ma'am.  Wherever  there  's  a  station  the 
trains  do  be  dhroppin'  in  now  and  again,  and 
what 's  the  differ  which  of  thim  you  take  ?  " 

"  The  man  who  is  waiting  for  you  at  the  other 
end  of  the  line  may  not  agree  with  you,"  I  sug 
gested. 

"  Sure,  a  man  can  always  amuse  himself  in  a 
town,  ma'am.  If  it 's  your  own  business  you  're 
coming  on,  he  knows  you  '11  find  him  ;  and  if  it 's 
his  business,  then  begorra  let  him  find  you !  " 
Which  quite  reminded  me  of  what  the  Irish  elf 


104         Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

says  to  the  English  elf  in  Moira  O'Neill's  fairy 
story  :  "  A  waste  of  time  ?  Why,  you  Ve  come  to 
a  country  where  there  's  no  such  thing  as  a  waste 
of  time.  We  have  no  value  for  time  here. 
There  is  lashings  of  it,  more  than  anybody  knows 
what  to  do  with." 

I  suppose  there  is  somewhere  a  golden  mean 
between  this  complete  oblivion  of  time  and  our 
feverish  American  hurry.  There  is  a  "  tedious 
haste  "  in  all  peoples  who  make  wheels  and  pis 
tons  and  engines,  and  live  within  sound  of  their 
everlasting  buzz  and  whir  and  revolution  ;  and 
there  is  ever  a  disposition  to  pause,  rest,  and 
consider  on  the  part  of  that  man  whose  daily 
tasks  are  done  in  serene  collaboration  with  dew 
and  rain  and  sun.  One  cannot  hurry  Mother 
Nature  very  much,  after  all,  and  one  who  has  much 
to  do  with  her  falls  into  a  peaceful  habit  of  mind. 
The  mottoes  of  the  two  nations  are  as  well 
rendered  in  the  vernacular  as  by  any  formal  or 
stilted  phrases.  In  Ireland  the  spoken  or  un 
spoken  slogan  is,  "  Take  it  aisy ; "  in  America, 
"  Keep  up  with  the  procession  ;  "  and  between 
them  lie  all  the  thousand  differences  of  race,  cli 
mate,  temperament,  religion,  and  government. 

I  don't  suppose  there  is  a  nation  on  the  earth 
better  developed  on  what  might  be  called  the 
train-catching  side  than  we  of  the  Big  Country, 
and  it  is  well  for  us  that  there  is  born  every  now 
and  again  among  us  a  dreamer  who  is  (blessedly) 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences         105 

oblivious  of  time-tables  and  market  reports  ;  who 
has  been  thinking  of  the  rustling  of  the  corn,  not 
of  its  price.  It  is  he,  if  we  do  not  hurry  him  out 
of  his  dream,  who  will  sound  the  ideal  note  in 
our  hurly-burly  and  bustle  of  affairs.  He  may 
never  discover  a  town  site,  but  he  will  create  new 
worlds  for  us  to  live  in,  and  in  the  course  of  a 
century  the  coming  Matthew  Arnold  will  not  be 
minded  to  call  us  an  unimaginative  and  uninter 
esting  people. 


XII 

LIFE   AT    KNOCKARNEY    HOUSE 

"  See  where  Mononia's  heroes  lie,  proud  Owen  More's  descend 
ants,  — 

'T  is  they  that  won  the  glorious  name  and  had  the  grand  attend 
ants  !  " 

James  Clarence  Mangan. 

IT  was  a  charming  thing  for  us  when  Dr.  La 
Touche  gave  us  introductions  to  the  Colquhouns 
of  Ardnagreena  ;  and  when  they,  in  turn,  took 
us  to  tea  with  Lord  and  Lady  Killbally  at  Bal- 
killy  Castle.  I  don't  know  what  there  is  about 
us  :  we  try  to  live  a  sequestered  life,  but  there 
are  certain  kind  forces  in  the  universe  that  are 
always  bringing  us  in  contact  with  the  good,  the 
great,  and  the  powerful.  Francesca  enjoys  it, 
but  secretly  fears  to  have  her  democracy  under 
mined.  Salemina  wonders  modestly  at  her  good 
fortune.  I  accept  it  as  the  graceful  tribute  of  an 
old  civilization  to  a  younger  one  ;  the  older  men 
grow  the  better  they  like  girls  of  sixteen,  and  why 
should  n't  the  same  thing  be  true  of  countries  ? 

As  long  ago  as  1589,  one  of  the  English  "un 
dertakers  "  who  obtained  some  of  the  confiscated 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences         107 

Desmond  lands  in  Munster  wrote  of  the  "  better 
sorte  "  of  Irish  :  "  Although  they  did  never  see 
you  before,  they  will  make  you  the  best  cheare 
their  country  yieldeth  for  two  or  three  days,  and 
take  not  anything  therefor.  .  .  .  They  have  a 
common  saying  which  I  am  persuaded  they 
speake  unfeinedly,  which  is,  *  Defend  me  and 
spend  me.'  Yet  many  doe  utterly  mislike  this  or 
any  good  thing  that  the  poor  Irishman  dothe." 

This  certificate  of  character  from  an  "  under 
taker  "  of  the  sixteenth  century  certainly  speaks 
volumes  for  Irish  amiability  and  hospitality,  since 
it  was  given  at  a  time  when  grievances  were  as 
real  as  plenty ;  when  unutterable  resentment  must 
have  been  rankling  in  many  minds  ;  and  when 
those  traditions  were  growing  which  have  colored 
the  whole  texture  of  Irish  thought,  until,  with  the 
poor  and  unlettered,  to  be  "  agin  the  govern 
ment  "  is  an  inherited  instinct,  to  be  obliterated 
only  by  time. 

We  supplement  Mrs.  Mullarkey's  helter-skelter 
meals  with  frequent  luncheons  and  dinners  with 
our  new  friends,  who  send  us  home  on  our  jaunt 
ing  car  laden  with  flowers,  fruit,  even  with  jellies 
and  jams.  Lady  Killbally  forces  us  to  take  three 
cups  of  tea  and  a  half  dozen  marmalade  sand 
wiches  whenever  we  go  to  the  Castle  ;  for  I  apol 
ogized  for  our  appetites,  one  day,  by  confessing 
that  we  had  lunched  somewhat  frugally,  the  meal 
being  sweetened,  however,  by  Molly's  explanation 


io8         Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

that  there  was  a  fresh  sole  in  the  house,  but  she 
thought  she  would  not  inthrude  on  it  before  din 
ner  ! 

We  asked,  on  our  arrival  at  Knockarney  House, 
if  we  might  breakfast  at  a  regular  hour,  —  say 
eight  thirty.  Mrs.  Mullarkey  agreed,  with  that 
suavity  which  is,  after  her  untidiness,  her  distin 
guishing  characteristic  ;  but  notwithstanding  this 
arrangement  we  break  our  fast  sometimes  at  nine 
forty,  sometimes  at  nine  twenty,  sometimes  at  nine, 
but  never  earlier.  In  order  to  achieve  this  much, 
we  are  obliged  to  rise  early  and  make  a  combined 
attack  on  the  executive  and  culinary  departments. 
One  morning  I  opened  the  door  leading  from  the 
hall  into  the  back  part  of  the  establishment,  but 
closed  it  hastily,  having  interrupted  the  toilets 
of  three  young  children,  whose  existence  I  had 
never  suspected,  and  of  Mr.  Mullarkey,  whom  I 
had  thought  dead  for  many  years.  Each  child 
had  donned  one  article  of  clothing,  and  was  ap 
parently  searching  for  the  mate  to  it,  whatever  it 
chanced  to  be.  Mrs.  Mullarkey  was  fully  clothed, 
and  was  about  to  administer  correction  to  one  of 
the  children,  who,  unhappily  for  him,  was  not. 
I  retired  to  my  apartment  to  report  progress, 
but  did  not  describe  the  scene  minutely,  nor 
mention  the  fact  that  I  had  seen  Salemina's  ivory- 
backed  hairbrush  put  to  excellent  if  somewhat 
unusual  and  unaccustomed  service. 

Each  party  in  the  house  eats  in  solitary  splen- 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences         109 

dor,  like  the  MacDermott,  Prince  of  Coolavin. 
That  royal  personage  of  County  Sligo  did  not,  I 
believe,  allow  his  wife  or  his  children  (who  must 
have  had  the  MacDermott  blood  in  their  veins, 
even  if  somewhat  diluted)  to  sit  at  table  with 
him.  This  method  introduces  the  last  ele 
ment  of  confusion  into  the  household  arrange 
ments,  and  on  two  occasions  we  have  had  our 
custard  pudding  or  stewed  fruit  served  in  our 
bedrooms  a  full  hour  after  we  have  finished 
dinner.  We  have  reasons  for  wishing  to  be  first 
to  enter  the  dining-room,  and  we  walk  in  with 
eyes  fixed  on  the  ceiling,  by  far  the  cleanest  part  .of 
the  place.  Having  wended  our  way  through  an 
underbrush  of  corks,  with  an  empty  bottle  here 
and  there,  and  stumbled  over  the  holes  in  the  car 
pet,  we  arrive  at  our  table  in  the  window.  It  is 
as  beautiful  as  heaven  outside,  and  the  tablecloth 
is  at  least  cleaner  than  it  will  be  later,  for  Mrs. 
Waterford  of  Mullinavat  has  an  unsteady  hand. 

When  Oonah  brings  in  the  toast  rack  now  she 
balances  it  carefully,  remembering  the  morning 
when  she  dropped  it  on  the  floor,  but  picked  up 
the  slices  and  offered  them  to  Salemina.  Never 
shall  I  forget  that  dear  martyr's  expression,  which 
was  as  if  she  had  made  up  her  mind  to  renounce 
Ireland  and  leave  her  to  her  fate.  I  know  she 
often  must  wonder  if  Dr.  La  Touche's  servants, 
like  Mrs.  Mullarkey's,  feel  of  the  potatoes  to  see 
whether  they  are  warm  or  cold ! 


HO        Penelope's  Irish  Experiences 

At  ten  thirty  there  is  great  confusion  and 
laughter  and  excitement,  for  the  sportsmen  are 
setting  out  for  the  day  and  the  car  has  been  wait 
ing  at  the  door  for  an  hour.  Oonah  is  caroling 
up  and  down  the  long  passage,  laden  with  dishes, 
her  cheerfulness  not  in  the  least  impaired  by  hav 
ing  served  seven  or  eight  separate  breakfasts. 
Molly  has  spilled  a  jug  of  milk,  and  is  wiping  it 
up  with  a  child's  undershirt.  The  Glasgy  man  is 
telling  them  that  yesterday  they  forgot  the  cork 
screw,  the  salt,  the  cup,  and  the  jam  from  the 
luncheon  basket,  —  facts  so  mirth-provoking  that 
Molly  wipes  tears  of  pleasure  from  her  eyes  with 
the  milky  undershirt,  and  Oonah  sets  the  hot- 
water  jug  and  the  coffee-pot  on  the  stairs  to  have 
her  laugh  out  comfortably.  When  once  the  car 
departs,  comparative  quiet  reigns  in  and  about 
the  house  until  the  passing  bicyclers  appear  for 
luncheon  or  tea,  when  Oonah  picks  up  the  nap 
kins  that  we  have  rolled  into  wads  and  flung 
under  the  dining  table,  and  spreads  them  on  tea 
trays,  as  appetizing  details  for  the  weary  traveler. 
There  would  naturally  be  more  time  for  house 
work  if  so  large  a  portion  of  the  day  were  not 
spent  in  pleasant  interchange  of  thought  and 
speech.  I  can  well  understand  Mrs.  Colquhoun's 
objections  to  the  housing  of  the  Dublin  poor  in 
tenements,  — even  in  those  of  a  better  kind  than 
the  present  horrible  examples ;  for  wherever  they 
are  huddled  together  in  any  numbers  they  will 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences         in 

devote  most  of  their  time  to  conversation.  To 
them,  talking  is  more  attractive  than  eating ;  it 
even  adds  a  new  joy  to  drinking  ;  and  if  I  may 
judge  from  the  groups  I  have  seen  gossiping  over 
a  turf  fire  till  midnight,  it  is  preferable  to  sleep 
ing.  But  do  not  suppose  they  will  bubble  over 
with  joke  and  repartee,  with  racy  anecdote,  to 
every  casual  newcomer.  The  tourist  who  looks 
upon  the  Irishman  as  the  merry-andrew  of  the 
English-speaking  world,  and  who  expects  every 
jarvey  he  meets  to  be  as  whimsical  as  Mickey 
Free,  will  be  disappointed.  I  have  strong  suspi 
cions  that  ragged,  jovial  Mickey  Free  himself, 
delicious  as  he  is,  was  created  by  Lever  to  satisfy 
the  Anglo-Saxon  idea  of  the  low-comedy  Irish 
man.  You  will  live  in  the  Emerald  Isle  for  many 
a  month,  and  not  meet  the  clown  or  the  villain  so 
familiar  to  you  in  modern  Irish  plays.  Drama 
tists  have  made  a  stage  Irishman  to  suit  them 
selves,  and  the  public  and  the  gallery  are  disap 
pointed  if  anything  more  reasonable  is  substituted 
for  him.  You  will  find,  too,  that  you  do  not  eas 
ily  gain  Paddy's  confidence.  Misled  by  his  care 
less,  reckless  impetuousity  of  demeanor,  you 
might  expect  to  be  the  confidant  of  his  joys  and 
sorrows,  his  hopes  and  expectations,  his  faiths 
and  beliefs,  his  aspirations,  fears,  longings,  at  the 
first  interview.  Not  at  all ;  you  will  sooner  be 
admitted  to  a  glimpse  of  the  traveling  Scotsman's 
or  the  Englishman's  inner  life,  family  history, 


112        Penelopes  Irish  Experiences 

personal  ambition.  Glacial  enough  at  first  and 
far  less  voluble,  he  melts  soon  enough,  if  he  likes 
you.  Meantime,  your  impulsive  Irish  friend  gives 
himself  as  freely  at  the  first  interview  as  at  the 
twentieth  ;  and  you  know  him  as  well  at  the  end 
of  a  week  as  you  are  likely  to  at  the  end  of  a 
year.  He  is  a  product  of  the  past,  be  he  gentle 
man  or  peasant.  A  few  hundred  years  of  neces 
sary  reserve  concerning  articles  of  political  and 
religious  belief  have  bred  caution  and  prudence 
in  stronger  natures,  cunning  and  hypocrisy  in 
weaker  ones. 

Our  days  are  very  varied.  We  have  been  sev 
eral  times  into  the  town  and  spent  an  hour  in 
the  Petty  Sessions  Court  with  Mr.  Colquhoun, 
who  sits  on  the  bench.  Each  time  we  have  come 
home  laden  with  stories  "  as  good  as  any  in  the 
books,"  so  says  Francesca.  Have  we  not  with 
our  own  eyes  seen  the  settlement  of  an  assault 
and  battery  case  between  two  of  the  most  noto 
rious  brawlers  in  that  alley  of  the  town  which  we 
have  dubbed  "  The  Pass  of  the  Plumes."  1  Each 
barrister  in  the  case  had  a  handful  of  hair  which 
he  introduced  on  behalf  of  his  client,  both  ladies 
apparently  having  pulled  with  equal  energy. 
These  most  unattractive  exhibits  were  shown  to 

1  The  original  Pass  of  the  Plumes  is  near  Maryborough,  and 
was  so  called  from  the  number  of  English  helmet  plumes  that 
were  strewn  about  after  O'Moore's  fight  with  five  hundred  of  the 
Earl  of  Essex's  men. 


Penelopes  Irish  Experiences         113 

the  women  themselves,  each  recognizing  her  own 
hair,  but  denying  the  validity  of  the  other  exhibit 
firmly  and  vehemently.  Prisoner  number  one 
kneeled  at  the  rail  and  insisted  on  exposing  the 
place  in  her  head  from  which  the  hair  had  been 
plucked ;  upon  which  prisoner  number  two 
promptly  tore  off  her  hat,  scattered  hairpins  to 
the  four  winds,  and  exposed  her  own  wounds  to 
the  judicial  eye.  Both  prisoners  "  had  a  dhrop 
taken  "  just  before  the  affair,  that  soft  impeach 
ment  they  could  not  deny.  One  of  them  ex 
plained,  however,  that  she  had  taken  it  to  help 
her  over  a  hard  job  of  work,  and  through  a  little 
miscalculation  of  quantity  it  had  "  overaided  her." 
The  other  termagant  was  asked  flatly  by  the 
magistrate  if  she  had  ever  seen  the  inside  of  a 
jail  before,  but  evaded  the  point  with  much  grace 
and  ingenuity  by  telling  his  Honor  that  he  could  n't 
expect  to  meet  a  woman  anny where  who  had  not 
suffered  a  misforchin  somewhere  betwixt  the 
cradle  and  the  grave. 

Even  the  all  too  common  drunk-and-disorderly 
cases  had  a  flavor  of  their  own,  for  one  man, 
being  dismissed  with  a  small  fine  under  condition 
that  he  would  sign  the  pledge,  assented  will 
ingly  ;  but  on  being  asked  for  how  long  he  would 
take  it  replied,  "  I  mostly  take  it  for  life,  your 
worship." 

We  also  heard  the  testimony  of  a  girl  who  had 
run  away  from  her  employer  before  the  comple- 


H4        Penelopes  Irish  Experiences 

tion  of  her  six  months'  contract,  her  plea  being 
that  the  fairies  pulled  her  great  toe  at  night  so 
that  she  could  not  sleep,  whereupon  she  finally 
became  so  lame  that  she  was  unable  to  work. 
She  left  her  employer's  house  one  evening,  there 
fore,  and  went  home,  and  curiously  enough  the 
fairies  "  shtopped  pulling  the  toe  on  her  as  soon 
as  iver  she  got  there  !  " 

Not  the  least  enlivening  of  the  prisoners  was  a 
decently  educated  person  who  had  been  arrested 
for  disturbing  the  peace.  The  constable  asserted 
that  he  was  intoxicated,  but  the  gentleman  him 
self  insisted  that  he  was  merely  a  poet  in  a  more 
than  usually  inspired  state. 

"  I  am  in  the  poetical  advertising  line,  your 
worship.  It  is  true  I  was  surrounded  by  a 
crowd,  but  I  was  merely  practicing  my  trade.  I 
don't  mind  telling  your  worship  that  this  holiday 
time  makes  things  a  little  lively,  and  the  trades 
men  drink  my  health  a  trifle  oftener  than  usual ; 
poetry  is  dry  work,  your  worship,  and  a  poet 
needs  a  good  deal  of  liquid  refreshment.  I  do 
not  disturb  the  peace,  your  worship,  at  least  not 
more  than  any  other  poet.  I  go  to  a  grocer's, 
and  standing  outside  I  make  up  some  rhymes 
about  his  nice  sweet  sugar  or  his  ale.  If  I  want 
to  please  a  butcher,  —  well,  I  '11  give  you  a  speci 
men  :  — 

'  Here  's  to  the  butcher  who  sells  good  meat  — • 
In  this  world  it 's  hard  to  beat ; 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences         1 1 5 

It 's  the  very  best  that 's  to  be  had, 
And  makes  the  human  heart  feel  glad. 
There 's  no  necessity  to  purloin, 
So  step  in  and  buy  a  good  sirloin.' 

I  can  go  on  in  -this  style,  like  Tennyson's  brook, 
forever,  your  worship."  His  worship  was  afraid 
that  he  might  make  the  offer  good,  and  the  poet 
was  released,  after  promising  to  imbibe  less  fre 
quently  when  he  felt  the  divine  afflatus  about  to 
descend  upon  him. 

These  disagreements  between  light-hearted  and 
bibulous  persons  who  haunt  the  courts  week 
after  week  have  nothing  especially  pathetic  about 
them,  but  there  are  many  that  make  one's  heart 
ache  ;  many  that  seem  absolutely  beyond  any 
solution,  and  beyond  reach  of  any  justice. 


XIII 

"  O  !    THE    SOUND   OF    THE    KERRY    DANCING  " 

"  The  light-hearted  daughters  of  Erin, 
Like  the  wild  mountain  deer  they  can  bound  ; 
Their  feet  never  touch  the  green  island, 
But  music  is  struck  from  the  ground. 
And  oft  in  the  glens  and  green  meadows, 
The  ould  jig  they  dance  with  such  grace, 
That  even  the  daisies  they  tread  on, 
Look  up  with  delight  in  their  face." 

James  M^Kowen. 

ONE  of  our  favorite  diversions  is  an  occasional 
glimpse  of  a  "crossroads  dance"  on  a  pleasant 
Sunday  afternoon,  when  all  the  young  people  of 
the  district  are  gathered  together.  Their  reli 
gious  duties  are  over  with  their  confessions  and 
their  masses,  and  the  priests  encourage  these 
decorous  Sabbath  gayeties.  A  place  is  generally 
chosen  where  two  or  four  roads  meet,  and  the 
dancers  come  from  the  scattered  farmhouses  in 
every  direction.  In  Ballyfuchsia,  they  dance  on  a 
flat  piece  of  road  under  some  fir-trees  and  larches, 
with  stretches  of  mountain  covered  with  yellow 
gorse  or  purple  heather  and  the  quiet  lakes  lying 
in  the  distance.  A  message  comes  down  to  us  at 
Ardnagreena  —  where  we  commonly  spend  our 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences         1 1 7 

Sunday  afternoons  —  that  they  expect  a  good 
dance,  and  the  blind  boy  is  coming  to  fiddle  ;  and 
"  so  if  you  will  be  coming  up,  it 's  welcome  you  '11 
be."  We  join  them  about  five  o'clock,  —  passing, 
on  our  way,  groups  of  "  boys  "  of  all  ages  from  six 
teen  upwards,  walking  in  twos  and  threes,  and  par 
ties  of  three  or  four  girls  by  themselves ;  for  it 
would  not  be  etiquette  for  the  boys  and  girls  to 
walk  together,  such  strictness  is  observed  in  these 
matters  about  here. 

When  we  reach  the  rendezvous  we  find  quite  a 
crowd  of  young  men  and  maidens  assembled  ; 
the  girls  all  at  one  side  of  the  road,  neatly 
dressed  in  dark  skirts  and  light  blouses,  with  the 
national  woolen  shawl  over  their  heads.  Two 
wide  stone  walls,  or  dikes,  with  turf  on  top,  make 
capital  seats,  and  the  boys  are  at  the  opposite 
side,  as  custom  demands.  When  a  young  man 
wants  a  partner,  he  steps  across  the  road  and 
asks  a  colleen,  who  lays  aside  her  shawl,  gener 
ally  giving  it  to  a  younger  sister  to  keep  until  the 
dance  is  over,  when  the  girls  go  back  to  their  own 
side  of  the  road  and  put  on  their  shawls  again. 
Upon  our  arrival  we  find  the  "  sets  "  are  already 
in  progress ;  a  ""  set  "  being  a  dance  like  a  very 
intricate  and  very  long  quadrille.  We  are  greeted 
with  many  friendly  words,  and  the  young  boat 
men  and  farmers'  sons  ask  the  ladies,  "  Will  you 
be  pleased  to  dance,  miss  ? "  Some  of  them  are 
shy,  and  say  they  are  not  familiar  with  the  steps ; 


Ii8         Penelopes  Irish  Experiences 


but  their  would-be  partners  remark  encourag 
ingly  :  "  Sure, '  and  what  matter  ?  I  '11  see  you 
through."  Soon  all  are  dancing,  and  the  state 
of  the  road  is  being  discussed  with  as  much  in 
terest  as  the  floor  of  a  ballroom.  Eager  direc 
tions  are  given  to  the  more  ignorant  newcomers, 
such  as,  "  Twirl  your  girl,  captain  !  "  or  "  Turn 
your  back  to  your  face  !  "  —  rather  a  difficult  di 
rection  to  carry  out,  but  one  which  conveys  its 
meaning.  Salemina  confided  to  her  partner  that 
she  feared  she  was  getting  a  bit  old  to  dance. 
He  looked  at  her  gray  hair  carefully  for  a  mo 
ment,  and  then  said  chivalrously  :  "  I  'd  not  say 
that  that  was  old  age,  ma'am.  I  'd  say  it  was  ed- 
dication." 

When  the  sets,  which  are  very  long  and  very 
decorous,  are  finished,  sometimes  a  jig  is  danced 
for  our  benefit.  The  spectators  make  a  ring,  and 
the  chosen  dancers  go  into  the  middle,  where 
their  steps  are  watched  by  a  most  critical  and 
discriminating  audience  with  the  most  minute 
and  intense  interest.  Our  Molly  is  one  of  the 
best  jig  dancers  among  the  girls  here  (would  that 
she  were  half  as  clever  at  cooking !)  ;  but  if  you 
want  to  see  an  artist  of  the  first  rank,  you  must 
watch  Kitty  O'Rourke,  from  the  neighboring  vil 
lage  of  Dooclone.  The  half  door  of  the  barn  is 
carried  into  the  ring  by  one  or  two  of  her  admir 
ers,  whom  she  numbers  by  the  score,  and  on  this 
she  dances  her  famous  jig  polthogue,  sometimes 


Penelopes  Irish  Experiences         119 

alone  and  sometimes  with  Art  Rooney,  the  only 
worthy  partner  for  her  in  the  kingdom  of  Kerry. 
Art's  mother,  "  Bid  "  Rooney,  is  a  keen  match 
maker,  and  we  heard  her  the  other  day  advising 
her  son,  who  was  going  to  Dooclone  to  have  a 
"  weeny  court "  with  his  colleen,  to  put  a  clane 
shirt  on  him  in  the  middle  of  the  week,  and  dis- 
thract  Kitty  intirely  by  showin'  her  he  had  three 
of  thim,  annyway ! 

Kitty  is  a  beauty,  and  does  n't  need  to  be 
made  "purty  wid  cows,"  —  a  feat  that  the  old 
Irishman  proposed  to  do  when  he  was  consummat 
ing  a  match  for  his  plain  daughter.  But  the  gifts 
of  the  gods  seldom  come  singly,  and  Kitty  is  well 
fortuned  as  well  as  beautiful ;  fifty  pounds,  her 
own  bedstead  and  its  fittings,  a  cow,  a  pig,  and  a 
web  of  linen  are  supposed  to  be  the  dazzling  total, 
so  that  it  is  small  wonder  her  deluderin'  ways  are 
maddening  half  the  boys  in  Ballyfuchsia  and 
Dooclone.  She  has  the  prettiest  pair  of  feet  in 
the  County  Kerry,  and  when  they  are  encased  in 
a  smart  pair  of  shoes,  bought  for  her  by  Art's 
rival,  the  big  constable  from  Ballyfuchsia  bar 
racks,  how  they  do  twinkle  and  caper  over  that 
half  barn  door,  to  be  sure !  Even  Murty,  the 
blind  fiddler,  seems  intoxicated  by  the  plaudits  of 
the  bystanders,  and  he  certainly  never  plays  so 
well  for  anybody  as  for  Kitty  of  the  -Meadow. 
Blindness  is  still  common  in  Ireland,  owing  to 
the  smoke  in  these  wretched  cabins,  where  some- 


I2O         Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

times  a  hole  in  the  roof  is  the  only  chimney  ;  and 
although  the  scores  of  blind  fiddlers  no  longer 
traverse  the  land,  finding  a  welcome  at  all  fire 
sides,  they  are  still  to  be  found  in  every  commu 
nity.  Blind  Murty  is  a  favorite  guest  at  the 
Rooneys'  cabin,  which  is  never  so  full  that  there 
is  not  room  for  one  more.  There  is  a  small 
wooden  bed  in  the  main  room,  a  settle  that 
opens  out  at  night,  with  hens  in  the  straw  under 
neath,  where  a  board  keeps  them  safely  within 
until  they  have  finished  laying.  There  are  six 
children  besides  Art,  and  my  ambition  is  to  pho 
tograph,  or,  still  better,  to  sketch  the  family  cir 
cle  together  ;  the  hens  cackling  under  the  settle, 
the  pig  ("  him  as  pays  the  rint ")  snoring  in  the 
doorway,  as  a  proprietor  should,  while  the  chil 
dren  are  picturesquely  grouped  about.  I  never 
succeed,  because  Mrs.  Rooney  sees  us  as  we  turn 
into  the  lane,  and  calls  to  the  family  to  make  it 
self  ready,  as  quality's  comin'  in  sight.  The 
older  children  can  scramble  under  the  bed,  slip 
shoes  over  their  bare  feet,  and  be  out  in  front  of 
the  cabin  without  the  loss  of  a  single  minute. 
"  Mickey  jew'l,"  the  baby,  who  is  only  four,  but 
"  who  can  handle  a  stick  as  bould  as  a  man,"  is 
generally  clad  in  a  ragged  skirt,  slit  every  few 
inches  from  waist  to  hem,  so  that  it  resembles  a 
cotton  fringe.  The  little  coateen  that  tops  this 
costume  is  sometimes,  by  way  of  diversion,  trans 
ferred  to  the  dog,  who  runs  off  with  it ;  but  if  we 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences         121 

appear  at  this  unlucky  moment,  there  is  a  stylish 
yoke  of  pink  ribbon  and  soiled  lace  which  one  of 
the  girls  pins  over  Mickey  jew'Fs  naked  shoul 
ders. 

Moya,  who  has  this  eye  for  picturesque  pro 
priety,  is  a  great  friend  of  mine,  and  has  many 
questions  about  the  Big  Country  when  we  take 
our  walks.  She  longs  to  emigrate,  but  the  time 
is  not  ripe  yet.  "  The  girls  that  come  back  has 
a  lovely  style  to  thim,"  she  says  wistfully,  "  but 
they  're  so  polite  they  can't  live  in  the  cabins 
anny  more  and  be  contint."  The  "  boys "  are 
not  always  so  improved,  she  thinks.  "  You  'd 
niver  find  a  boy  in  Ballyfuchsia  that  wouF  say 
annything  rude  to  a  girl ;  but  when  they  come 
back  from  Ameriky,  it 's  too  free  they  've  grown 
intirely."  It  is  a  dull  life  for  them,  she  says, 
when  they  have  once  been  away ;  though  to  be 
sure  Ballyfuchsia  is  a  pleasanter  place  than  Doo- 
clone,  where  the  priest  does  not  approve  of  dan 
cing,  and,  however  secretly  you  may  do  it,  the 
curate  hears  of  it,  and  will  speak  your  name  in 
church. 

It  was  Moya  who  told  me  of  Kitty's  fortune. 
"  She  's  not  the  match  that  Farmer  Brodigan's 
daughter  Kathleen  is,  to  be  sure  ;  for  he  's  a  rich 
man,  and  has  given  her  an  iligant  eddication  in 
Cork,  so  that  she  can  look  high  for  a  husband. 
She  won't  be  takin'  up  wid  anny  of  our  boys,  wid 
her  two  hundred  pounds  and  her  twenty  cows  and 


122         Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

her  pianya.  Och,  it 's  a  thriminjus  player  she  is, 
ma'am.  She  's  that  quick  and  that  strong  that 
you'd  say  she  would  n't  lave  a  string  on  it." 

Some  of  the  young  men  and  girls  never  see 
each  other  before  the  marriage,  Moya  says. 
"  But  sure,"  she  adds  shyly,  "  I  'd  niver  be  con- 
tint  with  that,  though  some  love  matches  does  n't 
turn  out  anny  better  than  the  others." 

"  I  hope  it  will  be  a  love  match  with  you,  and 
that  I  shall  dance  at  your  wedding,  Moya,"  I  say 
to  her  smilingly. 

"  Faith,  I  'm  thinkin'  my  husband's  intinded 
mother  died  an  old  maid  in  Dublin,"  she  answers 
merrily.  "  It 's  a  small  fortune  I  '11  be  havin', 
and  few  lovers  ;  but  you  '11  be  soon  dancing 
at  Kathleen  Brodigan's  wedding,  or  Kitty 
O'Rourke's,  maybe." 

I  do  not  pretend  to  understand  these  humble 
romances,  with  their  foundations  of  cows  and 
linen,  which  are  after  all  no  more  sordid  than 
bank  stock  and  trousseaux  from  Paris.  The  sen 
timent  of  the  Irish  peasant  lover  seems  to  be 
frankly  and  truly  expressed  in  the  verses  :  — 

"  Oh  !    Moya  's  wise  and  beautiful,  has  wealth  in  plenteous  store, 
And  fortune  fine  in  calves  and  kine,  and  lovers  half  a  score  ; 
Her  faintest  smile  would  saints  beguile,  or  sinners  captivate, 
Oh !  I  think  a  dale  of  Moya,  but  I  '11  surely  marry  Kate. 

Now  to  let  you  know  the  raison  why  I  cannot  have  my  way, 
Nor  bid  my  heart  decide  the  part  the  lover  must  obey  — 
The  calves  and  kine  of  Kate  are  nine,  while  Moya  owns  but  eight, 
So  with  all  my  love  for  Moya  I  'm  compelled  to  marry  Kate  !  " 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences         123 

I  gave  Moya  a  lace  neckerchief  the  other  day, 
and  she  was  rarely  pleased,  running  into  the 
cabin  with  it  and  showing  it  to  her  mother  with 
great  pride.  After  we  had  walked  a  bit  down  the 
boreen  she  excused  herself  for  an  instant,  and, 
returning  to  my  side,  explained  that  she  had  gone 
back  to  ask  her  mother  to  mind  the  kerchief,  and 
not  let  the  "  cow  knock  it "  ! 

Lady  Killbally  tells  us  that  some  of  the  girls 
who  work  in  the  mills  deny  themselves  proper 
food,  and  live  on  bread  and  tea  for  a  month,  to 
save  the  price  of  a  gay  ribbon.  This  is  trying, 
no  doubt,  to  a  philanthropist,  but  is  it  not  partly 
a  starved  sense  of  beauty  asserting  itself  ?  If  it 
has  none  of  the  usual  outlets,  where  can  imagina 
tion  express  itself  if  not  in  some  paltry  thing  like 
a  ribbon  ? 


XIV 

MRS.  MULLARKEY'S  ILIGANT  LOCKS 

"  Where  spreads  the  beautiful  water  to  gay  or  cloudy  skies, 
And  the  purple  peaks  of  Killarney  from  ancient  woods  arise." 

William  Allingham. 

MRS.  MULLARKEY  cannot  spoil  this  paradise  for 
us.  When  I  wake  in  the  morning,  the  fuchsia 
tree  outside  my  window  is  such  a  glorious  mass 
of  color  that  it  distracts  my  eyes  from  the  un 
washed  glass.  The  air  is  still ;  the  mountains  in 
the  far  distance  are  clear  purple ;  everything  is 
fresh-washed  and  purified  for  the  new  day.  Fran- 
cesca  and  I  leave  the  house  sleeping,  and  make 
our  way  to  the  bogs.  We  love  to-  sit  under  a 
blossoming  sloe  bush  and  see  the  silver  pools 
glistening  here  and  there  in  the  turf  cuttings,  and 
watch  the  transparent  vapor  rising  from  the  red- 
brown  or  the  purple-shadowed  bog  fields.  Dinnis 
Rooney,  half  awake,  leisurely,  silent,  is  moving 
among  the  stacks  with  his  creel.  How  the  missel 
thrushes  sing  in  the  woods,  and  the  plaintive  note 
of  the  curlew  gives-  the  last  touch  of  mysterious 
tenderness  to  the  scene.  There  is  a  moist,  rich 
fragrance  of  meadowsweet  and  bog  myrtle  in  the 
air  ;  and  how  fresh  and  wild  and  verdant  it  is  ! 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences          125 

"  For  there 's  plenty  to  mind,  sure,  if  on'y  ye  look  to  the  grass  at 

your  feet, 
For  't  is  thick  wid  the  tussocks  of  heather,  an'  blossoms  and  herbs 

that  smell  sweet 
If  ye  tread  thim  ;  an'  maybe  the  white  o'  the  bog-cotton  waves  in 

the  win', 
Like  the  wool  ye  might  shear  off  a  night-moth,  an'  set  an  ould 

fairy  to  spin ; 
Or  wee  frauns,  each  wan  stuck  'twixt  two  leaves  on  a  grand  little 

stem  of  its  own, 
Lettin'  on  't  was  a  plum  on  a  tree."  !    .     .    . 

As  for  Lough  Lein  itself,  who  could  speak  its 
loveliness,  lying  like  a  crystal  mirror  beneath  the 
black  Reeks  of  the  McGillicuddy,  where,  in  the 
mountain  fastnesses,  lie  spellbound  the  sleeping 
warriors  who,  with  their  bridles  and  broadswords 
in  hand,  await  but  the  word  to  give  Erin  her  own  ! 
When  we  glide  along  the  surface  of  the  lakes,  on 
some  bright  day  after  a  heavy  rain  ;  when  we  look 
down  through  the  clear  water  on  tiny  submerged 
islets,  with  their  grasses  and  drowned  daisies 
glancing  up  at  us  from  the  blue ;  when  we  moor 
the  boat  and  climb  the  hillsides,  we  are  dazzled 
by  the  luxuriant  beauty  of  it  all.  It  hardly  seems 
real,  —  it  is  too  green,  too  perfect,  to  be  believed  ; 
and  one  thinks  of  some  fairy  drop  scene,  painted 
by  cunning-fingered  elves  and  sprites,  who  might 
have  a  wee  folk's  way  of  mixing  roses  and  rain 
bows,  dew-drenched  greens  and  sun-warmed  yel 
lows;  showing  the  picture  to  you  first  all  bur 
nished,  glittering  and  radiant,  then  "veiled  in 
1  Jane  Barlow. 


126         Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

mist  and  diamonded  with  showers."  We  climb, 
climb,  up,  up,  into  the  heart  of  the  leafy  loveli 
ness  ;  peering  down  into  dewy  dingles,  stopping 
now  and  again  to  watch  one  of  the  countless 
streams  as  it  tinkles  and  gurgles  down  an  emerald 
ravine  to  join  the  lakes.  The  way  is  strewn  with 
lichens  and  mosses ;  rich  green  hollies  and  arbu 
tus  surround  us  on  every  side ;  the  ivy  hangs  in 
sweet  disorder  from  the  rocks  ;  and  when  we 
reach  the  innermost  recess  of  the  glen  we  can 
find  moist  green  jungles  of  ferns  and  bracken,  a 
very  bending,  curling  forest  of  fronds  :  — 

"  The  fairy's  tall  palm  tree,  the  heath  bird's  fresh  nest, 
And  the  couch  the  red  deer  deems  the  sweetest  and  best." 

Carrantual  rears  its  crested  head  high  above 
the  other  mountains,  and  on  its  summit  Shon 
the  Outlaw,  footsore,  weary,  slept ;  sighing,  "  For 
once,  thank  God,  I  am  above  all  my  enemies." 

You  must  go  to  sweet  Innisfallen,  too,  and  you 
must  not  be  prosaic  or  incredulous  at  the  boat 
man's  stories,  or  turn  the  "  bodthered  ear  to  them." 
These  are  no  ordinary  hillsides  :  not  only  do  the 
wee  folk  troop  through  the  frond  forests  nightly, 
but  great  heroic  figures  of  romance  have  stalked 
majestically  along  these  mountain  summits.  Every 
waterfall  foaming  and  dashing  from  its  rocky  bed 
in  the  glen  has  a  legend  in  the  toss  and  swirl  of 
the  water. 

Can't  you  see  the  O'Sullivan,  famous  for  fleet- 
ness  of  foot  and  prowess  in  the  chase,  starting 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences         127 

forth  in  the  cool  o'  the  morn  to  hunt  the  red  deer  ? 
His  dogs  sniff  the  heather ;  a  splendid  stag  bounds 
across  the  path ;  swift  as  lightning  the  dogs  fol 
low  the  scent  across  moors  and  glens.  Through 
out  the  long  day  the  chieftain  chases  the  stag, 
until  at  nightfall,  weary  and  thirsty,  he  loses  the 
scent,  and  blows  a  blast  on  his  horn  to  call  the 
dogs  homeward. 

And  then  he  hears  a  voice  :  "  O'Sullivan,  turn 
back ! " 

He  looks  over  his  shoulder  to  behold  the  great 
Finn  McCool,  central  figure  in  centuries  of  ro 
mance. 

"  Why  do  you  dare  chase  my  stag  ?  "  he  asks. 

"  Because  it  is  the  finest  man  ever  saw,"  an 
swers  the  chieftain  composedly. 

"  You  are  a  valiant  man,"  says  the  hero,  pleased 
with  the  reply ;  "and  as  you  thirst  from  the  long 
chase,  I  will  give  you  to  drink."  So  he  crunches 
his  giant  heel  into  the  rock,  and  forth  burst  the 
waters,  seething  and  roaring  as  they  do  to  this 
day  ;  "  and  may  the  divil  fly  away  wid  me  if  I  've 
spoke  an  unthrue  word,  ma'am  ! " 

Come  to  Lough  Lein  as  did  we,  too  early  for 
the  crowd  of  sightseers;  but  when  the  "long 
light  shakes  across  the  lakes,"  the  blackest  arts 
of  the  tourist  (and  they  are  as  black  as  they  are 
many)  cannot  break  the  spell.  Sitting  on  one  of 
these  hillsides,  we  heard  a  bugle  call  taken  up 
and  repeated  in  delicate,  ethereal  echoes,  —  sweet 


128         Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

enough,  indeed,  to  be  worthy  of  the  fairy  buglers 
who  are  supposed  to  pass  the  sound  along  their 
lines  from  crag  to  crag,  until  it  faints  and  dies  in 
silence.  And  then  came  the  Lament  for  Owen 
Roe  O'Neill.  We  were  thrilled  to  the  very  heart 
with  the  sorrowful  strains ;  and  when  we  issued 
from  our  leafy  covert,  and  rounded  the  point  of 
rocks  from  which  the  sound  came,  we  found  a  fat 
man  in  uniform  playing  the  bugle.  "  Blank's 
Tours  "  was  embroidered  on  his  cap,  and  I  have 
no  doubt  that  he  is  a  good  husband  and  father, 
even  a  good  citizen,  but  he  is  a  blight  upon  the 
landscape,  and  fancy  cannot  breathe  in  his  pre 
sence.  The  typical  tourist  should  be  encouraged 
within  bounds,  both  because  he  is  of  some  benefit 
to  Ireland,  and  because  Ireland  is  of  inestimable 
benefit  to  him  ;  but  he  should  not  be  allowed  to 
jeer  and  laugh  at  the  legends  (the  gentle  smile  of 
sophisticated  unbelief,  with  its  twinkle  of  amuse 
ment,  is  unknown  to  and  forever  beyond  him) ; 
and  above  all,  he  should  never  be  allowed  to 
carry  or  to  play  on  a  concertina,  for  this  is  the 
unpardonable  sin. 

We  had  an  adventure  yesterday.  We  were  to 
dine  at  eight  o'clock  at  Balkilly  Castle,  where  Dr. 
La  Touche  is  staying  the  week  end  with  Lord 
and  Lady  Killbally.  We  had  been  spending  an 
hour  or  two  after  tea  in  writing  an  Irish  letter, 
and  were  a  bit  late  in  dressing.  These  letters, 
written  in  the  vernacular,  are  a  favorite  diversion 


Penelopes  Irish  Experiences         129 

of  ours  when  visiting  in  foreign  lands ;  and  they 
are  very  easily  done  when  once  you  have  caught 
the  idioms,  for  you  can  always  supplement  your 
slender  store  of  words  and  expressions  with 
choice  selections  from  native  authors. 

What  Francesca  and  I  wore  to  the  Castle  din 
ner  is,  alas,  no  longer  of  any  consequence  to  the 
community  at  large.  In  the  mysterious  purposes 
of  that  third  volume  which  we  seem  to  be  living 
in  Ireland,  Francesca's  beauty  and  mine,  her  hats 
and  frocks  as  well  as  mine,  are  all  reduced  to  the 
background  ;  but  Salemina's  toilet  had  cost  us 
some  thought.  When  she  first  issued  from  the 
discreet  and  decorous  fastnesses  of  Salem  society, 
she  had  never  donned  any  dinner  dress  that  was 
not  as  high  at  the  throat  and  as  long  in  the  sleeves 
as  the  Puritan  mothers  ever  wore  to  meeting.  In 
England  she  lapsed  sufficiently  from  the  rigid 
Salem  standard  to  adopt  a  timid  compromise ;  in 
Scotland  we  coaxed  her  into  still  further  modern 
ities,  until  now  she  is  completely  enfranchised. 
We  achieved  this  at  considerable  trouble,  but  do 
not  grudge  the  time  spent  in  persuasion  when  we 
see  her  en  grande  toilette.  In  day  dress  she  has 
always  been  inclined  ever  so  little  to  a  primness 
and  severity  that  suggest  old-maidishness.  In 
her  low  gown  of  pale  gray,  with  all  her  silver  hair 
waved  softly,  she  is  unexpectedly  lovely, — her  face 
softened,  transformed,  and  magically  "  brought 
out "  by  the  whiteness  of  her  shoulders  and  slen- 


130         Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

der  throat.  Not  an  ornament,  not  a  jewel,  will  she 
wear ;  and  she  is  right  to  keep  the  nunlike  sim 
plicity  of  style  which  suits  her  so  well,  and  which 
holds  its  own  even  in  the  vicinity  of  Francesca's 
proud  and  glowing  young  beauty. 

On  this  particular  evening,  Francesca,  who 
wished  her  to  look  her  best,  had  prudently  hid 
den  her  eyeglasses,  for  which  we  are  now  trying 
to  substitute  a  silver-handled  lorgnette.  Two 
years  ago  we  deliberately  smashed  her  spectacles, 
which  she  had  adopted  at  five  and  twenty. 

"  But  they  are  more  convenient  than  eye 
glasses,"  she  urged  obtusely. 

"  That  argument  is  beneath  you,  dear,"  we 
replied.  "If  your  hair  were  not  prematurely 
gray,  we  might  permit  the  spectacles,  hideous  as 
they  are,  but  a  combination  of  the  two  is  impos 
sible  ;  the  world  shall  not  convict  you  of  failing 
sight  when  you  are  guilty  only  of  petty  astigma 
tism  ! " 

The  gray  satin  had  been  chosen  for  this  dinner, 
and  Salemina  was  dressed,  with  the  exception  of 
the  pretty  pearl-embroidered  waist  that  has  to  be 
laced  at  the  last  moment,  and  had  slipped  on  a 
dressing  jacket  to  come  down  from  her  room  in 
the  second  story,  to  be  advised  in  some  trifling 
detail.  She  looked  unusually  well,  I  thought: 
her  eyes  were  bright  and  her  cheeks  flushed,  as 
she  rustled  in,  holding  her  satin  skirts  daintily 
away  from  the  dusty  carpets. 


Penelopes  Irish  Experiences         131 

Now,  from  the  morning  of  our  arrival  we  have 
had  trouble  with  the  Mullarkey  door-knobs,  which 
come  off  continually,  and  lie  on  the  floors  at  one 
side  of  the  door  or  the  other.  Benella  followed 
Salemina  from  her  room,  and,  being  in  haste, 
closed  the  door  with  unwonted  energy.  She 
heard  the  well-known  rattle  and  clang,  but  little 
suspected  that,  as  one  knob  dropped  outside  in 
the  hall,  the  other  fell  inside,  carrying  the  rod  of 
connection  with  it.  It  was  not  long  before  we 
heard  a  cry  of  despair  from  above  and  we  re 
sponded  to  it  promptly. 

"  It 's  fell  in  on  the  inside,  knob  and  all,  as  I 
always  knew  it  would  some  day;  and  now  we 
can't  get  back  into  the  room  !  "  said  Benella. 

"  Oh,  nonsense !  We  can  open  it  with  some 
thing  or  other,"  I  answered  encouragingly,  as  I 
drew  on  my  gloves  ;  "  only  yOu  must  hasten,  for 
the  car  is  at  the  door." 

The  curling  iron  was  too  large,  the  shoe  hook 
too  short,  a  lead  pencil  too  smooth,  a  crochet 
needle  too  slender :  we  tried  them  all,  and  the 
door  resisted  all  their  insinuations.  "  Must  you 
necessarily  get  in  before  we  go  ?  "  I  asked  Sale 
mina  thoughtlessly. 

She  gave  me  a  glance  that  almost  froze  my 
blood,  as  she  replied,  "  The  waist  of  my  dress  is 
in  the  room.'* 

Francesca  and  I  spent  a  moment  in  irrepres 
sible  mirth,  and  then  summoned  Mrs.  Mullarkey. 


132         Penelope  s  I  risk  Experiences 

Whether  the  Irish  kings  could  be  relied  upon  in 
an  emergency  I  do  not  know,  but  their  descend 
ants  cannot.  Mrs.  Mullarkey  had  gone  to  the 
convent  to  see  the  Mother  Superior  about  some 
thing  ;  Mr.  Mullarkey  was  at  the  Dooclone  mar 
ket  ;  Peter  was  not  to  be  found ;  but  Oonah  and 
Molly  came,  and  also  the  old  lady  from  Mullina- 
vat,  with  a  package  of  raffle  tickets  in  her  hand. 

We  left  this  small  army  under  Benella's  charge, 
and  went  down  to  my  room  for  a  hasty  consulta 
tion. 

"  Could  you  wear  any  evening  bodice  of  Fran- 
cesca's  ?  "  I  asked. 

"Of  course  not.  Francesca's  waist  measure 
is  three  inches  smaller  than  mine." 

"  Could  you  manage  my  black  lace  dress  ?  " 

"  Penelope,  you  know  it  would  only  reach  to 
my  ankles !  No,  you  must  go  without  me,  and 
go  at  once.  We  are  too  new  acquaintances  to 
keep  Lady  Killbally's  dinner  waiting.  Why  did 
I  come  to  this  place  like  a  pauper,  with  only  one 
evening  gown,  when  I  should  have  known  that  if 
there  is  a  castle  anywhere  within  forty  miles  you 
always  spend  half  your  time  in  it !  " 

This  slur  was  totally  unjustified,  but  I  par 
doned  it,  because  Salemina's  temper  is  ordinarily 
perfect,  and  the  circumstances  were  somewhat 
tragic.  "  If  you  had  brought  a  dozen  costumes, 
they  would  all  be  in  your  room  at  this  moment," 
I  replied  ;  "  but  we  must  think  of  something.  It 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences         133 

is  impossible  for  you  to  remain  behind  ;  we  were 
invited  more  on  your  account  than  on  our  own, 
for  you  are  Dr.  La  Touche's  friend,  and  the  din 
ner  is  especially  in  his  honor.  Molly,  have  you 
a  ladder  ? " 

"  Sorra  a  wan,  ma'am." 

"  Could  we  borrow  one  ?  " 

"  We  could  not,  Mrs.  Beresford,  ma'am." 

"  Then  see  if  you  can  break  down  the  door ; 
try  hard,  and  if  you  succeed  I  will  buy  you  a  nice 
new  one !  Part  of  Miss  Peabody's  dress  is  inside 
the  room,  and  we  shall  be  late  to  the  Castle  din 
ner." 

The  entire  corps,  with  Mrs.  Waterford  of  Mul- 
linavat  on  top,  cast  itself  on  the  door,  which  with 
stood  the  shock  to  perfection.  Then  in  a  mo 
ment  we  heard  :  "  Weary 's  on  it,  it  will  not  come 
down  for  us,  ma'am.  It 's  the  iligant  locks  we  do 
be  havin'  in  the  house  ;  they  're  mortial  shtrong, 
ma'am  ! " 

"  Strong  indeed  !  "  exclaimed  the  incensed 
Benella,  in  a  burst  of  New  England  wrath. 
"  There 's  nothing  strong  about  the  place  but  the 
impidence  of  the  people  in  it !  If  you  had  told 
Peter  to  get  a  carpenter  or  a  locksmith,  as  I  Ve 
been  asking  you  to  these  two  weeks,  it  would 
have  been  all  right ;  but  you  never  do  anything 
till  a  month  after  it 's  too  late.  I  Ve  no  patience 
with  such  a  set  of  doshies,  dawdling  around  and 
leaving  everything  to  go  to  rack  and  ruin  ! " 


134        Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

"  Sure  it  was  yourself  that  ruinated  the  thing," 
responded  'Molly,  with  spirit,  for  the  unaccus 
tomed  word  "  doshy "  had  kindled  her  quick 
Irish  temper.  ''It's  aisy  handlin' the  knob  is 
used  to,  and  faith  it  would  'a'  stuck  there  for  you 
a  twelvemonth  !  " 

"  They  will  be  quarreling  soon,"  said  Salemina 
nervously.  "  Do  not  wait  another  instant ;  you 
are  late  enough  now,  and  I  insist  on  your  going. 
Make  any  excuse  you  see  fit :  say  I  am  ill,  say  I 
am  dead,  if  you  like,  but  don't  tell  the  real  ex 
cuse,  —  it  is  too  shiftless  and  wretched  and  em 
barrassing.  Don't  cry,  Benella.  Molly,  Oonah, 
go  downstairs  to  your  work.  Mrs.  Waterford,  I 
think  perhaps  you  have  forgotten  that  we  have 
already  purchased  raffle  tickets,  and  we  '11  not 
take  any  more  for  fear  that  we  may  draw  the 
necklace.  Good-by,  dears  ;  tell  Lady  Killbally  I 
shall  see  her  to-morrow." 


XV 

PENELOPE   WEAVES    A   WEB 

Why  the  shovel  and  tongs 
To  each  other  belongs, 
And  the  kettle  sings  songs 
Full  of  family  glee, 
While  alone  with  your  cup, 
Like  a  hermit  you  sup, 
Och  hone,  Widow  Machree." 

Samuel  Lover, 

FRANCESCA  and  I  were  gloomy  enough,  as  we 
drove  along  facing  each  other  in  Ballyfuchsia's 
one  "  inside  "  car,  —  a  strange  and  fearsome  vehi 
cle,  partaking  of  the  nature  of  a  broken-down 
omnibus,  a  hearse,  and  an  overgrown  black  bee 
tle.  It  holds  four,  or  at  a  squeeze  six,  the  seats 
being  placed  from  stem  to  stern  lengthwise,  and 
the  balance  being  so  delicate  that  the  passengers, 
when  going  uphill,  are  shaken  into  a  heap  at  the 
door,  which  is  represented  by  a  ragged  leather 
flap.  I  have  often  seen  it  strew  the  hard  high 
road  with  passengers,  as  it  jolts  up  the  steep  in 
cline  that  leads  to  Ardnagreena,  and  the  "  fares  " 
who  succeed  in  staying  in  always  sit  in  one 
another's  laps  a  good  part  of  the  way,  —  a 
method  pleasing  only  to  relatives  or  intimate 


136         Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

friends.  Francesca  and  I  agreed  to  tell  the  real 
reason  of  Salemina's  absence.  "  It  is  Ireland's 
fault,  and  I  will  not  have  America  blamed  for  it," 
she  insisted ;  "  but  it  is  so  embarrassing  to  be 
going  to  the  dinner  ourselves,  and  leaving  behind 
the  most  important  personage.  Think  of  Dr.  La 
Touche's  disappointment,  think  of  Salemina's; 
and  they  '11  never  understand  why  she  could  n't 
have  come  in  a  dressing  jacket.  I  shall  advise 
her  to  discharge  Benella  after  this  episode,  for 
no  one  can  tell  the  effect  it  may  have  upon  all 
our  future  lives,  even  those  of  the  doctor's  two 
poor  motherless  children." 

It  is  a  four-mile  drive  to  Balkilly  Castle,  and 
when  we  arrived  there  we  were  so  shaken  that 
we  had  to  retire  to  a  dressing-room  for  repairs. 
Then  came  the  dreaded  moment  when  we  en 
tered  the  great  hall  and  advanced  to  meet  Lady 
Killbally,  who  looked  over  our  heads  to  greet 
the  missing  Salemina.  Francesca's  beauty,  my 
supposed  genius,  both  fell  flat ;  it  was  Salemina 
whose  presence  was  especially  desired.  The  com 
pany  was  assembled,  save  for  one  guest  still 
more  tardy  than  ourselves,  and  we  had  a  moment 
or  two  to  tell  our  story  as  sympathetically  as  pos 
sible.  It  had  an  uncommonly  good  reception, 
and,  coupled  with  the  Irish  letter  I  read  at  des 
sert,  carried  the  dinner  along  on  a  basis  of  such 
laughter  and  good-fellowship  that  finally  there  was 
no  place  for  regret  save  in  the  hearts  of  those  who 


Penelope's  Irish  Experiences         137 

knew  and  loved  Salemina,  —  poor  Salemina, 
spending  her  dull,  lonely  evening  in  our  rooms, 
and  later  on  in  her  own  uneventful  bed,  if  indeed 
she  had  been  lucky  enough  to  gain  access  to  that 
bed.  I  had  hoped  Lady  Killbally  would  put  one 
of  us  beside  Dr.  La  Touche,  so  that  we  might  at 
least  keep  Salemina's  memory  green  by  tactful 
conversation  ;  but  it  was  too  large  a  company  to 
rearrange,  and  he  had  to  sit  by  an  empty  chair, 
which  perhaps  was  just  as  salutary,  after  all.  The 
dinner  was  very  smart,  and  the  company  interest 
ing  and  clever,  but  my  thoughts  were  elsewhere. 
As  there  were  fewer  squires  than  dames  at  the 
feast,  Lady  Killbally  kindly  took  me  on  her  left, 
with  a  view  to  better  acquaintance,  and  I  was 
heartily  glad  of  a  possible  chance  to  hear  some 
thing  of  Dr.  La  Touche's  earlier  life.  In  our 
previous  interviews,  Salemina's  presence  had  al 
ways  precluded  the  possibility  of  leading  the  con 
versation  in  the  wished-for  direction. 

When  I  first  saw  Gerald  La  Touche  I  felt  that 
he  required  explanation.  Usually  speaking,  a 
human  being  ought  to  be  able,  in  an  evening's 
conversation,  to  explain  himself,  without  any  ad 
ventitious  aid.  If  he  is  a  man,  alive,  vigorous, 
well  poised,  conscious  of  his  own  individuality,  he 
shows  you,  without  any  effort,  as  much  of  his  past 
as  you  need  to  form  your  impression,  and  as  much 
of  his  future  as  you  have  intuition  to  read.  As 
opposed  to  the  vigorous  personality,  there  is  the 


138         Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

colorless,  flavorless,  insubstantial  sort,  forgotten 
as  soon  as  learned,  and  forever  confused  with  that 
of  the  previous  or  the  next  comer.  When  I  was 
a  beginner  in  portrait  painting,  I  remember  that, 
after  I  had  succeeded  in  making  my  background 
stay  back  where  it  belonged,  my  figure  sometimes 
had  a  way  of  clinging  to  it  in  a  kind  of  smudgy 
weakness,  as  if  it  were  afraid  to  come  out  like  a 
man  and  stand  the  inspection  of  my  eye.  How 
often  have  I  squandered  paint  upon  the  ungrate 
ful  object  without  adding  a  cubit  to  its  stature ! 
It  refused  to  look  like  flesh  and  blood,  but  re 
sembled  rather  some  half-made  creature  flung  on 
the  passive  canvas  in  a  liquid  state,  with  its  edges 
running  over  into  the  background.  There  are  a 
good  many  of  these  people  in  literature,  too,  — 
heroes  who,  like  home-made  paper  dolls,  do  not 
stand  up  well ;  or  if  they  manage  to  perform  that 
feat,  one  unexpectedly  discovers,  when  they  are 
placed  in  a  strong  light,  that  they  have  no  vital 
organs  whatever,  and  can  be  seen  through  with 
out  the  slightest  difficulty.  Dr.  La  Touche  does 
not  belong  to  either  of  these  two  classes :  he  is 
not  warm,  magnetic,  powerful,  impressive  ;  neither 
is  he  by  any  means  destitute  of  vital  organs  ;  but 
his  personality  is  blurred  in  some  way.  He 
seems  a  bit  remote,  absent-minded,  and  a  trifle, 
just  a  trifle,  over-resigned.  Privately,  I  think  a 
man  can  afford  to  be  resigned  only  to  one  thing, 
and  that  is  the  will  of  God  ;  against  all  other 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences         139 

odds  I  prefer  to  see  him  fight  till  the  last  armed 
foe  expires.  Dr.  La  louche  is  devotedly  at 
tached  to  his  children,  but  quite  helpless  in  their 
hands ;  so  that  he  never  looks  at  them  with  plea 
sure  or  comfort  or  pride,  but  always  with  an  anx 
iety  as  to  what  they  may  do  next.  I  understand 
him  better  now  that  I  know  the  circumstances  of 
which  he  has  been  the  product.  (Of  course  one 
is  always  a  product  of  circumstances,  unless  one 
can  manage  to  be  superior  to  them.)  His  wife, 
the  daughter  of  an  American  consul  in  Ireland, 
was  a  charming  but  somewhat  feather-brained 
person,  rather  given  to  whims  and  caprices  ;  very 
pretty,  very  young,  very  much  spoiled,  very  at 
tractive,  very  undisciplined.  All  went  well  enough 
with  them  until  her  father  was  recalled  to  Amer 
ica,  because  of  some  change  in  political  adminis 
tration.  The  young  Mrs.  La  Touche  seemed  to 
have  no  resources  apart  from  her  family,  and 
even  her  baby  "  Jackeen  "  failed  to  absorb  her  as 
might  have  been  expected. 

"  We  thought  her  a  most  trying  woman  at  this 
time,"  said  Lady  Killbally.  "  She  seemed  to 
have  no  thought  of  her  husband's  interests,  and 
none  of  the  responsibilities  that  she  had  as 
sumed  in  marrying  him  ;  her  only  idea  of  life 
appeared  to  be  amusement  and  variety  and  gay- 
ety.  Gerald  was  a  student,  and  always  very 
grave  and  serious  ;  the  kind  of  man  who  invari 
ably  marries  a  butterfly,  if  he  can  find  one  to 


140        Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

make  him  miserable.  He  was  exceedingly  pa 
tient  •  but  after  the  birth  of  little  Broona,  Adeline 
became  so  homesick  and  depressed  and  discon 
tented  that,  although  the  journey  was  almost  an 
impossibility  at  the  time,  Gerald  took  her  back 
to  her  people,  and  left  her  with  them,  while  he 
returned  to  his  duties  at  Trinity  College.  Their 
life,  I  suppose,  had  been  very  unhappy  for  a  year 
or  two  before  this,  and  when  he  came  home  to 
Dublin  without  his  children,  he  looked  a  sad  and 
broken  man.  He  was  absolutely  faithful  to  his 
ideals,  I  am  glad  to  say,  and  never  wavered  in 
his  allegiance  to  his  wife,  however  disappointed 
he  may  have  been  in  her  ;  going  over  regularly 
to  spend  his  long  vacations  in  America,  although 
she  never  seemed  to  wish  to  see  him.  At  last 
she  fell  into  a  state  of  hopeless  melancholia  ;  and 
it  was  rather  a  relief  to  us  all  to  feel  that  we  had 
judged  her  too  severely,  and  that  her  unreason 
ableness  and  her  extraordinary  caprices  had  been 
born  of  mental  disorder  more  than  of  moral  ob 
liquity.  Gerald  gave  up  everything  to  nurse  her 
and  rouse  her  from  her  apathy ;  but  she  faded 
away  without  ever  once  coming  back  to  a  more 
normal  self,  and  that  was  the  end  of  it  all.  Ger 
ald's  father  had  died  meanwhile,  and  he  had 
fallen  heir  to  the  property  and  the  estates.  They 
were  very  much  encumbered,  but  he  is  gradually 
getting  affairs  into  a  less  chaotic  state;  and 
while  his  fortune  would  seem  a  small  one  to  you 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences        141 

extravagant  Americans,  he  is  what  we  Irish  pau 
pers  would  call  well  to  do." 

Lady  Killbally  was  suspiciously  willing  to  give 
me  all  this  information,  —  so  much  so  that  I 
ventured  to  ask  about  the  children. 

"  They  are  captivating,  neglected  little  things," 
she  said.  "  Madam  La  Touche,  an  aged  aunt, 
has  the  ostensible  charge  of  them,  and  she  is  a 
most  easy-going  person.  The  servants  are  of 
the  *  old  family '  sort,  the  reckless,  improvident, 
untidy,  devoted,  quarrelsome  creatures  that  al 
ways  stand  by  the  ruined  Irish  gentry  in  all  their 
misfortunes,  and  generally  make  their  life  a  bur 
den  to  them  at  the  same  time.  Gerald  is  a  saint, 
and  therefore  never  complains." 

"  It  never  seems  to  me  that  saints  are  altogether 
adapted  to  positions  like  these,"  I  sighed;  "sinners 
would  do  ever  so  much  better.  I  should  like  to 
see  Dr.  La  Touche  take  off  his  halo,  lay  it  care 
fully  on  the  bureau,  and  wield  a  battle-axe.  The 
world  will  never  acknowledge  his  merit ;  it  will 
even  forget  him  presently,  and  his  life  will  have 
been  given  up  to  the  evolution  of  the  passive 
virtues.  Do  you  suppose  he  will  ever  marry 
again  ?  Do  you  suppose  he  will  recognize  the 
tender  passion  if  it  ever  does  bud  in  his  breast, 
or  will  he  think  it  a  weed,  instead  of  a  flower, 
and  let  it  wither  for  want  of  attention  ?  " 

"  I  think  his  friends  will  have  to  enhance  his 
self-respect,  or  he  will  forever  be  too  modest  to 


142        Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

declare  himself,"  said  Lady  Killbally.  "  Perhaps 
you  can  help  us  :  he  is  probably  going  to  America 
this  winter  to  lecture  at  some  of  your  universities, 
and  he  may  stay  there  for  a  year  or  two,  so  he 
says.  At  any  rate,  if  the  right  woman  ever  ap 
pears  on  the  scene,  I  hope  she  will  have  the  in 
stinct  to  admire  and  love  and  reverence  him  as  we 
do,"  and  here  she  smiled  directly  into  my  eyes, 
and  slipping  her  pretty  hand  under  the  tablecloth 
squeezed  mine  in  a  manner  that  spoke  volumes. 
It  is  not  easy  to  explain  one's  desire  to  marry 
off  all  the  unmarried  persons  in  one's  vicinity. 
When  I  look  steadfastly  at  any  group  of  people, 
large  or  small,  they  usually  segregate  themselves 
into  twos  under  my  prophetic  eye.  If  they  are 
nice  and  attractive,  I  am  pleased  to  see  them 
mated  ;  if  they  are  horrid  and  disagreeable,  I  like 
to  think  of  them  as  improving  under  the  disci 
pline  of  matrimony.  It  is  joy  to  see  beauty  meet 
a  kindling  eye,  but  I  am  more  delighted  still  to 
watch  a  man  fall  under  the  glamour  of  a  plain, 
dull  girl,  and  it  is  ecstasy  for  me  to  see  a  per 
fectly  unattractive,  stupid  woman  snapped  up  at 
last,  when  I  have  given  up  hopes  of  settling  her 
in  life.  Sometimes  there  are  men  so  uninspiring 
that  I  cannot  converse  with  them  a  single  moment 
without  yawning ;  but  though  failures  in  all  other 
relations,  one  can  conceive  of  their  being  tolera 
bly  useful  as  husbands  and  fathers  ;  not  for  one's 
self,  you  understand,  but  for  one's  neighbors. 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences         143 

Dr.  La  Touche's  life  now,  to  any  understanding 
eye,  is  as  incomplete  as  the  unfinished  window  in 
Aladdin's  tower.  He  is  too  wrinkled,  too  studi 
ous,  too  quiet,  too  patient  for  his  years.  His 
children  need  a  mother,  his  old  family  servants 
need  discipline,  his  baronial  halls  need  sweeping 
and  cleaning  (I  have  n't  seen  them,  but  I  know 
they  do !),  and  his  aged  aunt  needs  advice  and 
guidance.  On  the  other  hand,  there  are  those 
(I  speak  guardedly)  who  have  walked  in  shady 
sequestered  paths  all  their  lives,  looking  at  hun 
dreds  of  happy  lovers  on  the  sunny  highroad,  but 
never  joining  them ;  those  who  adore  erudition, 
who  love  children,  who  have  a  genius  for  unsel 
fish  devotion,  who  are  sweet  and  refined  and 
clever,  and  who  look  perfectly  lovely  when  they 
put  on  gray  satin  and  leave  off  eyeglasses.  They 
say  they  are  over  forty,  and  although  this  proba 
bly  is  exaggeration,  they  may  be  thirty-nine  and 
three  quarters ;  and  if  so,  the  time  is  limited  in 
which  to  find  for  them  a  worthy  mate,  since  half 
of  the  masculine  population  is  looking  for  itself, 
and  always  in  the  wrong  quarter,  needing  no  as 
sistance  to  discover  rosy-cheeked  idiots  of  nine 
teen,  whose  obvious  charms  draw  thousands  to  a 
dull  and  uneventful  fate. 

These  thoughts  were  running  idly  through  my 
mind  while  the  Honorable  Michael  McGillicuddy 
was  discoursing  to  me  of  Mr.  Gladstone's  misun 
derstanding  of  Irish  questions, — a  misunderstand- 


144         Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

ing,  he  said,  so  colossal,  so  temperamental,  and 
so  all-embracing,  that  it  amounted  to  genius.  I 
was  so  anxious  to  return  to  Salemina  that  I 
wished  I  had  ordered  the  car  at  ten  thirty  in 
stead  of  eleven  ;  but  I  made  up  my  mind,  as  we 
ladies  went  to  the  drawing-room  for  coffee,  that 
I  would  seize  the  first  favorable  opportunity  to 
explore  the  secret  chambers  of  Dr.  La  Touche's 
being.  I  love  to  rummage  in  out-of-the-way  cor 
ners  of  people's  brains  and  hearts  if  they  will  let 
me.  I  like  to  follow  a  courteous  host  through 
the  public  corridors  of  his  house  and  come  upon 
a  little  chamber  closed  to  the  casual  visitor.  If 
I  have  known  him  long  enough  I  put  my  hand 
on  the  latch  and  smile  inquiringly.  He  looks 
confused  and  conscious,  but  unlocks  the  door. 
Then  I  peep  in,  and  often  I  see  something  that 
pleases  and  charms  and  touches  me  so  much  that 
it  shows  in  my  eyes  when  I  lift  them  to  his  to 
say  "  Thank  you."  Sometimes,  after  that,  my 
host  gives  me  the  key  and  says  gravely,  "  Pray 
come  in  whenever  you  like." 

When  Dr.  La  Touche  offers  me  this  hospital 
ity  I  shall  find  out  whether  he  knows  anything  of 
that  lavender-scented  guest  room  in  Salemina's 
heart.  First,  has  he  ever  seen  it  ?  Second,  has 
he  ever  stopped  in  it  for  any  length  of  time  ? 
Third,  was  he  sufficiently  enamored  of  it  to  oc 
cupy  it  on  a  long  lease  ? 


XVI 

SALEM  IN  A    HAS    HER    CHANCE 

"  And  what  use  is  one's  life  widout  chances  ? 
Ye  've  always  a  chance  wid  the  tide.'; 

Jane  Barlow. 

I  WAS  walking  with  Lady  Fincoss,  and  Fran- 
cesca  with  Miss  Clondalkin,  a  very  learned  per 
sonage  who  has  deciphered  more  undecipherable 
inscriptions  than  any  lady  in  Ireland,  when  our 
eyes  fell  upon  an  unexpected  tableau. 

Seated  on  a  divan  in  the  centre  of  the  drawing- 
room,  in  a  most  distinguished  attitude,  in  unex 
ceptionable  attire,  and  with  the  rose-colored  lights 
making  all  her  soft  grays  opalescent,  was  Miss 
Salemina  Peabody.  Our  exclamations  of  aston 
ishment  were  so  audible  that  they  must  have 
reached  the  dining-room,  for  Lord  Killbally  did 
not  keep  the  gentlemen  long  at  their  wine. 

Salemina  cannot  tell  a  story  quite  as  it  ought 
to  be  told  to  produce  an  effect.  She  is  too  re 
served,  too  concise,  too  rigidly  conscientious. 
She  does  not  like  to  be  the  centre  of  interest, 
even  in  a  modest  contretemps  like  being  locked 
out  of  a  room  which  contains  part  of  her  dress; 


146         Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

but  from  her  brief  explanation  to  Lady  Killbally, 
her  more  complete  and  confidential  account  on 
the  way  home,  and  Benella's  graphic  story  when  we 
arrived  there,  we  were  able  to  get  all  the  details. 

When  the  inside  car  passed  out  of  view  with 
us,  it  appears  that  Benella  wept  tears  of  rage,  at 
the  sight  of  which  Oonah  and  Molly  trembled. 
In  that  moment  of  despair  and  remorse  her  mind 
worked  as  it  must  always  have  done  before  the 
Salem  priestess  befogged  it  with  hazy  philoso 
phies,  understood  neither  by  teacher  nor  by  pu 
pil.  Peter  had  come  back,  but  could  suggest  no 
thing.  Benella  forgot  her  "  science,"  which  pro 
hibits  rage  and  recrimination,  and  called  him  a 
great,  hulking,  lazy  vagabone,  and  told  him  she  'd 
like  to  have  him  in  Salem  for  five  minutes,  just 
to  show  him  a  man  with  a  head  on  his  shoulders. 

"  You  call  this  a  Christian  country,"  she  said, 
"  and  you  have  n't  got  a  screw-driver,  nor  a  brad 
awl,  nor  a  monkey  wrench,  nor  a  rat-tail  file,  nor 
no  kind  of  a  useful  tool  to  bless  yourselves  with; 
and  my  Miss  Peabody,  that 's  worth  ten  dozen  of 
you  put  together,  has  got  to  stay  home  from  the 
Castle  and  eat  warmed-up  scraps  served  in 
courses,  with  twenty  minutes'  wait  between  'em. 
Now  you  do.  as  I  say  :  take  the  dining  table  and 
set  it  out  under  the  window,  and  the  carving  table 
on  top  o'  that,  and  see  how  fur  up  it  '11  reach.  I 
guess  you  can't  stump  a  Salem  woman  by  telling 
her  there  ain't  no  ladder." 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences         147 

The  two  tables  were  finally  in  position ;  but 
there  still  remained  nine  feet  of  distance  to  that 
key  of  the  situation,  Salemina's  window,  and 
Mrs.  Waterford's  dressing  table  went  on  top  of 
this  pile.  "  Now,  Peter,"  were  the  next  orders, 
"  if  you  've  got  sprawl  enough,  and  want  to  rest 
yourself  by  doin'  something  useful  for  once  in 
your  life,  you  just  hold  down  the  dining  table ; 
and  you  and  Oonah,  Molly,  keep  the  next  two 
tables  stiddy,  while  I  climb  up." 

The  intrepid  Benella  could  barely  reach  the 
sill,  even  from  this  ingeniously  dizzy  elevation, 
and  Mrs.  Waterford  and  Salemina  were  called 
on  to  "  stiddy  "  the  tables,  while  Molly  was  bid 
den  to  help  by  giving  an  heroic  "boost"  when 
the  word  of  command  came.  The  device  was 
completely  successful,  and  in  a  trice  the  con 
queror  disappeared,  to  reappear  at  the  window 
holding  the  precious  pearl-embroidered  bodice 
wrapped  in  a  towel.  "  I  would  n't  stop  to  fool 
with  the  door-knob  till  I  dropped  you  this,"  she 
said.  "  Oonah,  you  go  and  wash  your  hands 
clean,  and  help  Miss  Peabody  into  it,  —  and  mind 
you  start  the  lacing  right  at  the  top ;  and  you, 
Peter,  run  down  to  Rooney's  and  get  the  donkey 
and  the  cart,  and  bring  'em  back  with  you,  — 
and  don't  you  let  the  grass  grow  under  your  feet 
neither !  " 

There  was  literally  no  other  mode  of  convey 
ance  within  miles,  and  time  was  precious.  Sal- 


148         Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

emina  wrapped  herself  in  Francesca's  long  black 
cloak,  and  climbed  into  the  cart.  Dinnis  hauls 
turf  in  it,  takes  a  sack  of  potatoes  or  a  pig  to 
market  in  it,  and  the  stubborn  little  ass,  blind  of 
one  eye,  has  never  in  his  wholly  elective  course 
of  existence  taken  up  the  subject  of  speed. 

It  was  eight  o'clock  when  Benella  mounted  the 
seat  beside  Salemina,  and  gave  the  donkey  a  pre 
liminary  touch  of  the  stick. 

"  Be  aisy  wid  him,"  cautioned  Peter.  "  He  's 
a  very  arch  donkey  for  a  lady  to  be  dhrivin',  and 
mebbe  he  'd  lay  down  and  not  get  up  for  you." 

"  Arrah  !  shut  yer  mouth,  Pether.  Give  him  a 
couple  of  belts  anondher  the  hind  leg,  melady, 
and  that  '11  put  the  fear  o'  God  in  him  ! "  said 
Dinnis. 

"  I  'd  rather  not  go  at  all,"  urged  Salemina 
timidly  ;  "  it 's  too  late,  and  too  extraordinary." 

"  I  'm  not  going  to  have  it  on  my  conscience 
to  make  you  lose  this  dinner  party,  —  not  if  I 
have  to  carry  you  on  my  back  the  whole  way," 
said  Benella  doggedly  ;  "  and  this  donkey  won't 
lay  down  with  me  more  'n  once,  —  I*can  tell  him 
that  right  at  the  start." 

"  Sure,  melady,  he  '11  go  to  Galway  for  you, 
when  oncet  he  's  started  wid  himself ;  and  it 's 
only  a  couple  o'  fingers  to  the  Castle,  anny- 
ways." 

The  four-mile  drive,  especially  through  the  vil 
lage  of  Ballyfuchsia,  was  an  eventful  one,  but  by 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences          149 

dint  of  prodding,  poking,  and  belting,  Benella 
had  accomplished  half  the  distance  in  three 
quarters  of  an  hour,  when  the  donkey  suddenly 
lay  down  "  on  her,"  according  to  Peter's  predic 
tion.  This  was  luckily  at  the  town  cross,  where 
a  group  of  idlers  rendered  hearty  assistance. 
Willing  as  they  were  to  succor  a  lady  in  dis- 
thress,  they  did  not  know  of  any  car  which  could 
be  secured  in  time  to  be  of  service,  but  one  of 
them  offered  to  walk  and  run  by  the  side  of  the 
donkey,  so  as  to  kape  him  on  his  legs.  It  was 
in  this  wise  that  Miss  Peabody  approached  Bal- 
killy  Castle  ;  and  when  a  gilded  gentleman-in- 
waiting  lifted  her  from  Rooney's  "plain  cart," 
she  was  just  on  the  verge  of  hysterics.  Fortu 
nately  his  Magnificence  was  English,  and  be 
trayed  no  surprise  at  the  arrival  in  this  humble 
fashion  of  a  dinner  guest,  but  simply  summoned 
the  Irish  housekeeper,  who  revived  her  with  wine, 
and  called  on  all  the  saints  to  witness  that  she  'd 
never  heard  of  such  a  shameful  thing,  and  such 
a  disgrace  to  Ballyfuchsia.  The  idea  of  not 
keeping  a  ladder  in  a  house  where  the  door-knobs 
were  apt  to  come  off  struck  her  as  being  the 
worst  feature  of  the  accident,  though  this  unex 
pected  and  truly  Milesian  view  of  the  matter  had 
never  occurred  to  us. 

"Well,    I   got   Miss   Peabody   to   the   dinner 
party,"  said  Benella  triumphantly,  when  she  was 


150         Penelope  s  frisk  Experiences 

laboriously  unlacing  my  frock,  later  on,  "or  at 
least  I  got  her  there  before  it  broke  up.  I  had 
to  walk  every  step  o'  the  way  home,  and  the  don 
key  laid  down  four  times,  but  I  was  so  nerved  up 
I  did  n't  care  a  mite.  I  was  bound  Miss  Pea- 
body  should  n't  lose  her  chance,  after  all  she  's 
done  for  me  !  " 

"  Her  chance  ? "  I  asked,  somewhat  puzzled, 
for  dinners,  even  castle  dinners,  are  not  rare  in 
Salemina's  experience. 

"  Yes,  her  chance,"  repeated  Benella  mysteri 
ously  ;  "  you  'd  know  well  enough  what  I  mean, 
if  you  'd  ben  born  and  brought  up  in  Salem, 
Massachusetts ! " 

Copy  of  a  letter  read  by  Penelope  O'Connor,  de 
scendant  of  the  king  of  Connaught,  at  the  dinner  of 
Lord  and  Lady  Killbally  at  Balkilly  Castle.  It 
needed  no  apology  then,  but  in  sending  it  to  our 
American  friends,  we  were  obliged  to  explain  that 
though  the  Irish  peasants  interlard  their  conversa 
tion  with  saints,  angels,  and  devils,  and  use  the 
name  of  the  Virgin  Mary,  and  even  the  Almighty, 
with,  to  our  ears,  undue  familiarity  and  frequency, 
there  is  no  profane  or  irreverent  intent.  They  are 
instinctively  religious,  and  it  is  only  because  they  feel 
on  terms  of  such  friendly  intimacy  with  the  powers 
above  that  they  speak  of  them  so  often. 


Penelopes  Irish  Experiences         151 

At  the  Widdy  Mullarkey's, 
KNOCKARNEY  HOUSE,  BALLYFUCHSIA, 
County  Kerry. 

Och  !  musha  bedad,  man  alive,  but  it 's  a  fine 
counthry  over  here,  and  it  bangs  all  the  jewel 
of  a  view  we  do  be  havin'  from  the  windys,  be- 
gorra !  Knockarney  House  is  in  a  wild  remoted 
place  at  the  back  of  beyant,  and  faix  we  're  as 
much  alone  as  Robinson  Crusoe  on  a  dissolute 
island  ;  but  when  we  do  be  wishful  to  go  to  the 
town,  sure  there  's  ivery  convaniency.  There  's 
ayther  a  bit  of  a  jauntin'  car  wid  a  skewbald 
pony  for  drivin',  or  we  can  borry  the  loan  of  Din- 
nis  Rooney's  blind  ass  wid  the  plain  cart,  or  we  can 
just  take  a  fut  in  a  hand  and  leg  it  over  the  bog. 
Sure  it 's  no  great  thing  to  go  do,  but  only  a  taste 
of  divarsion  like,  though  it 's  three  good  Irish 
miles  an'  powerful  hot  weather,  with  niver  a 
dhrop  of  wet  these  manny  days.  It 's  a  great  old 
spring  we  're  havin'  intirely ;  it  has  raison  to  be 
proud  of  itself,  begob  ! 

Paddy,  the  gossoon  that  drives  the  car  (it  's  a 
gossoon  we  call  him,  but  faix  he  stands  five  fut 
nine  in  his  stockin's,  when  he  wears  anny),  — 
Paddy,  as  I  'm  afther  tellin'  you,  lives  in  a  cabin 
down  below  the  knockaun,  a  thrifle  back  of  the 
road.  There  's  a  nate  stack  of  turf  fornint  it, 
and  a  pitaty  pot  sets  beside  the  doore,  wid  the 
hins  and  chuckens  rachin'  over  into  it  like  aigles 
tryin'  to  swally  the  smell. 


152         Penelopes  Irish  Experiences 

Across  the  way  there  does  be  a  bit  of  sthrame 
that 's  fairly  shtiff  wid  troutses  in  the  saison,  and 
a  growth  of  rooshes  under  the  edge  lookin'  that 
smooth  and  greeny  it  must  be  a  pleasure  intirely 
to  the  grand  young  pig  and  the  goat  that  spinds 
their  time  by  the  side  of  it  when  out  of-  doores, 
which  is  seldom.  Paddy  himself  is  raggetty  like, 
and  a  sight  to  behould  wid  the  daylight  shinin' 
through  the  ould  coat  on  him  ;  but  he  's  a  dacint 
spalpeen,  and  sure  we  'd  be  lost  widout  him. 
His  mother 's  a  widdy  woman  with  nine  moi- 
dtherin'  childer,  not  countin'  the  pig  an'  the  goat, 
which  has  aquil  advantages.  It 's  nine  she  has 
livin',  she  says,  and  four  slapin'  in  the  beds  o' 
glory ;  and  faix  I  hope  thim  that 's  in  glory  is 
quieter  than  the  wans  that 's  here,  for  the  divil 
is  busy  wid  thim  the  whole  of  the  day.  Here  's 
wan  o'  thim  now  makin'  me  as  onaisy  as  an  ould 
hin  on  a  hot  griddle,  slappin'  big  sods  of  turf 
over  the  dike,  and  ruinatin'  the  timpers  of  our 
poulthry.  We  Ve  a  right  to  be  lambastin'  thim 
this  blessed  minute,  the  crathurs  ;  as  sure  as 
eggs  is  mate,  if  they  was  mine  they  'd  sup  sorrow 
wid  a  spoon  of  grief,  before  they  wint  to  bed  this 
night ! 

Misthress  Colquhoun,  that  lives  at  Ardnagreena 
on  the  road  to  the  town,  is  an  iligant  lady  intirely, 
an'  she  's  uncommon  frindly,  may  the  peace  of 
heaven  be  her  sowPs  rist !  She  's  rale  charitable- 
like  an'  liberal  with  the  whativer,  an'  as  for  Him- 


Penelopes  Irish  Experiences          153 

self,  sure  he  's  the  darlin'  fine  man  !  He  taches 
the  dead-and-gone  languages  in  the  grand  sates 
of  larnin',  and  has  more  eddication  and  comper- 
hinson  than  the  whole  of  County  Kerry  rowled 
together. 

Then  there  's  Lord  and  Lady  Killbally ;  faix 
there  's  no  iliganter  family  on  this  counthryside, 
and  they  has  the  beautiful  quality  stoppin'  wid 
thim,  begob !  They  have  a  pew  o'  their  own  in 
the  church,  an'  their  coachman  wears  top-boots 
wid  yaller  chimbleys  to  thim.  They  do  be  very 
open-handed  wid  the  eatin'  and  the  drinkin',  and 
it  bangs  Banagher  the  figurandyin'  we  do  have 
wid  thim !  So  you  see  ould  Ireland  is  not  too 
disthressful  a  counthry  to  be  divartin'  ourselves 
in,  an'  we  have  our  healths  finely,  glory  be  to 
God! 

Well,  we  must  be  shankin'  off  wid  ourselves 
now  to  the  Colquhouns',  where  they  're  wettin'  a 
dhrop  o'  tay  for  us  this  mortial  instant. 

It 's  no  good  for  yous  to  write  to  us  here,  for 
we  '11  be  quittin'  out  o'  this  before  the  letther  has 
a  chanst  to  come ;  though  sure  it  can  folly  us  as 
we  're  jiggin'  along  to  the  north. 

Don't  be  thinkin'  that  you  've  shlipped  hould 
of  our  ricollections,  though  the  breadth  of  the 
ocean  say  's  betune  us.  More  power  to  your 
elbow !  May  your  life  be  aisy,  and  may  the 
heavens  be  your  bed ! 

PENELOPE  O'CONNOR  BERESFORD. 


PART   THIRD 
ULSTER 


PART  THIRD.     ULSTER 
XVII 

THE   GLENS   OF   ANTRIM 

"  Silent,  O  Moyle,l  be  the  roar  of  thy  water  ; 

Break  not,  ye  breezes,  your  chain  of  repose ; 
While  murmuring  mournfully,  Lir's  lovely  daughter 
Tells  to  the  night-star  her  tale  of  woes." 

Thomas  Moore. 
• 

SORLEY  BOY  HOTEL, 
Glens  of  Antrim. 

WE  are  here  for  a  week,  in  the  neighborhood 
of  Cushendun,  just  to  see  a  bit  of  the  north 
eastern  corner  of  Erin,  where,  at  the  end  of  the 
nineteenth  century,  as  at  the  beginning  of  the 
seventeenth,  the  population  is  almost  exclusively 
Catholic  and  Celtic.  The  Gaelic  Sorley  Boy  is, 
in  Irish  state  papers,  Carolus  Flavus,  —  yellow- 
haired  Charles,  —  the  most  famous  of  the  Mac- 
donnell  fighters ;  the  one  who,  when  recognized 
by  Elizabeth  as  Lord  of  the  Route,  and  given  a 
patent  for  his  estates,  burned  the  document  be- 

1  The  sea  between  Erin  and  Alban  (Ireland  and  Scotland)  was 
called  in  the  olden  time  The  Sea  of  Moyle,  from  the  Moyle,  or 
Mull,  of  Cantire. 


158         Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

fore  his  retainers,  swearing  that  what  had  been 
won  by  the  sword  should  never  be  held  by  the 
sheepskin.  Cushendun  was  one  of  the  places  in 
our  literary  pilgrimage,  because  of  its  association 
with  that  charming  Irish  poetess  and  good  glens- 
woman  who  calls  herself  "  Moira  O'Neill." 

This  country  of  the  Glens,  east  of  the  river 
Bann,  escaped  "plantation,"  and  that  accounts 
for  its  Celtic  character.  When  the  great  Ulster 
chieftains,  the  O'Donnells  and  the  O'Neills  of 
Donegal,  went  under,  the  third  great  house  of 
Ulster,  the  "  Macdonnells  of  the  Isles,"  was 
more  fortunate,  and,  thanks  to  its  Scots  blood, 
found  favojr  with  James  I.  It  was  a  Macdonnell 
who  was  created  first  Earl  of  Antrim,  and  given 
a  "grant  of  the  Glens  and  the  Route,  from  the 
Curran  of  Larne  to  the  Cutts  of  Coleraine." 
Ballycastle  is  our  nearest  large  town,  and  its 
great  days  were  all  under  the  Macdonnells,  where, 
in  the  Franciscan  abbey  across  the  bay,  it  is  said 
the  ground  "literally  heaves  with  Clandonnell 
dust."  Here  are  buried  those  of  the  clan  who 
perished  at  the  hands  of  Shane  O'Neill,  —  Shane 
the  Proud,  who  signed  himself  "  Myself  O'Neill," 
and  who  has  been  called  "  the  shaker  of  Ulster ; " 
here,  too,  are  those  who  fell  in  the  great  fight  at 
Slieve-an-Aura  up  in  Glen  Shesk,  when  the  Mac 
donnells  finally  routed  the  older  lords,  the  Mc 
Quillans.  A  clansman  once  went  to  the  Countess 
of  Antrim  to  ask  the  lease  of  a  farm. 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences         159 

"  Another  Macdonnell  ?  "  asked  the  countess. 
"  Why,  you  must  all  be  Macdonnells  in  the  Low 
Glens  ! " 

"Ay,"  said  the  man.  "Too  many  Macdon 
nells  now,  but  not  one  too  many  on  the  day  of 
Aura." 

From  the  cliffs  of  Antrim  we  can  see  on  any 
clear  day  the  Sea  of  Moyle  and  the  bonnie  blue 
hills  of  Scotland,  divided  from  Ulster  at  this 
point  by  only  twenty  miles  of  sea  path.  The 
Irish  or  Gaels  or  Scots  of  "  Uladh  "  often  crossed 
in  their  curraghs  to  this  lovely  coast  of  Alba,  then 
inhabited  by  the  Picts.  Here,  "when  the  tide 
drains  out  wid  itself  beyant  the  rocks,"  we  sit  for 
many  an  hour,  perhaps  on  the  very  spot  from 
which  they  pushed  off  their  boats.  The  Mull  of 
Cantire  runs  out  sharply  toward  you  ;  south  of  it 
are  Ailsa  Craig,  and  the  soft  Ayrshire  coast ; 
north  of  the  Mull  are  blue,  blue  mountains  in  a 
semicircle,  and  just  beyond  them  somewhere, 
Francesca  knows,  are  the  Argyleshire  Highlands. 
And  oh  !  the  pearl  and  opal  tints  that  the  Irish 
atmosphere  flings  over  the  scene,  shifting  them 
ever  at  will,  in  misty  sun  or  radiant  shower ;  and 
how  lovely  are  the  too  rare  bits  of  woodland ! 
The  ground  is  sometimes  white  with  wild  garlic, 
sometimes  blue  with  hyacinths ;  the  primroses 
still  linger  in  moist  hidden  places,  and  there  are 
violets  and  marsh  marigolds.  Everything  wears 
the  color  of  Hope.  If  there  are  buds  that  will 


160         Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

never  bloom  and  birds  that  will  never  fly,  the 
great  mother-heart  does  not  know  it  yet.  "I 
wonder,"  said  Salemina,  "if  that  is  why  we  think 
of  autumn  as  sad,  —  because  the  story  of  the 
year  is  known  and  told  ? " 

Long,  long  before  the  Clandonnell  ruled  these 
hills  and  glens  and  cliffs  they  were  the  home  of 
Celtic  legend.  Over  the  waters  of  the  wee  river 
Margy,  with  its  half-mile  course,  often  sailed  the 
four  white  swans,  those  enchanted  children  of 
Lir,  king  of  the  Isle  of  Man,  who  had  been  trans 
formed  into  this  guise  by  their  cruel  stepmother, 
with  a  stroke  of  her  druidical  fairy  wand.  After 
turning  them  into  four  beautiful  white  swans  she 
pronounced  their  doom,  which  was  to  sail  three 
hundred  years  on  smooth  Lough  Derryvara,  three 
hundred  on  the  gloomy  Sea  of  Moyle,  and  three 
hundred  on  the  Sea  of  Erris,  —  sail,  and  sail, 
until  the  union  of  Largnen,  the  prince  from  the 
north,  with  Decca,  the  princess  from  the  south  ; 
until  the  Taillkenn  *  should  come  to  Erinn,  bring 
ing  the  light  of  a  pure  faith,  and  until  they  should 
hear  the  voice  of  a  Christian  bell.  They  were  al 
lowed  to  keep  their  own  Gaelic  speech,  and  to 
sing  sweet,  plaintive  fairy  music,  which  should 
excel  all  the  music  of  the  world,  and  which  should 
lull  to  sleep  all  who  listened  to  it.  We  could 
hear  it,  we  three,  for  we  loved  the  story ;  and 
love  opens  the  ear  as  well  as  the  heart  to  all  sorts 

1  A  name  given  by  the  druids  to  St.  Patrick. 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences         161 

of  sounds  not  heard  by  the  dull  and  incredulous. 
You  may  hear  it,  too,  any  fine  soft  day  if  you  will 
sit  there  looking  out  on  Fair  Head  and  Rathlin 
Island,  and  read  the  old  fairy  tale.  When  you 
put  down  the  book  you  will  see  Finola,  Lir's 
lovely  daughter,  in  any  white-breasted  bird  ;  and 
while  she  covers  her  brothers  with  her  wings, 
she  will  chant  to  you  her  old  song  in  the  Gaelic 
tongue. 

"  Ah,  happy  is  Lir's  bright  home  to-day 
With  mirth  and  music  and  port's  lay  : 
But  gloomy  and  cold  his  children's  home, 
Forever  tossed  on  the  briny  foam. 

"  Our  wreathed  feathers  are  thin  and  light 
When  the  wind  blows  keen  through  the  wintry  night : 
Yet  oft  we  were  robed,  long,  long  ago, 
In  purple  mantles  and  furs  of  snow. 

"  On  Moyle's  bleak  current  our  food  and  wine 
Are  sandy  seaweed  and  bitter  brine  ; 
Yet  oft  we  feasted  in  days  of  old, 
And  hazel-mead  drank  from  cups  of  gold. 

"  Our  beds  are  rocks  in  the  dripping  caves  ; 
Our  lullaby  song  the  roar  of  the  waves  ; 
But  soft  rich  couches  once  we  pressed, 
And  harpers  lulled  us  each  night  to  rest. 

"  Lonely  we  swim  on  the  billowy  main, 
Through  frost  and  snow,  through  storm  and  rain  ; 
Alas  !  for  the  days  when  round  us  moved 
The  chiefs  and  princes  and  friends  we  loved."  ! 

l  Joyce's  translation. 


1 62         Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

The  Fate  of  the  Children  of  Lir  is  the  second 
of  Erin's  Three  Sorrows  of  Story,  and  the  third 
and  greatest  is  the  Fate  of  the  Sons  of  Usnach, 
which  has  to  do  with  a  sloping  rock  on  the  north 
side  of  Fair  Head,  five  miles  from  us.  Here  the 
three  sons  of  Usnach  landed  when  they  returned 
from  Alba  to  Erin  with  Deirdre',  —  Deirdre,  who 
was  "  beautiful  as  Helen,  and  gifted  like  Cassan 
dra  with  unavailing  prophecy ; "  and  by  reason 
of  her  beauty  many  sorrows  fell  upon  the  Ultoni- 
ans. 

Naisi,  son  of  Conor,  king  of  Uladh,  had  fled 
with  Deirdre,  daughter  of  Phelim  the  king's 
story-teller,  to  a  sea-girt  islet  on  Lough  Etive, 
where  they  lived  happily  by  the  chase.  Naisi's 
two  brothers  went  with  them,  and  thus  the  three 
sons  of  Usnach  were  all  in  Alba.  Then  the  story 
goes  on  to  say  that  Fergus,  one  of  Conor's  no 
bles,  goes  to  seek  the  exiles,  and  Naisi  and 
Deirdre,  while  playing  at  the  chess,  hear  from 
the  shore  "The  cry  of  a  man  of  Erin."  It  is 
against  Deirdre''s  will  that  they  finally  leave  Alba 
with  Fergus,  who  says,  "  Birthright  is  first,  for  ill 
it  goes  with  a  man,  although  he  be  great  and 
prosperous,  if  he  does  not  see  daily  his  native 
earth." 

So  they  sailed  away  over  the  sea,  and  Deirdre 
sang  this  lay  as  the  shores  of  Alba  faded  from 
her  sight  :  — 

"  My  love  to  thee,  O  Land  in  the  East,  and  't  is 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences         163 

ill  for  me  to  leave  thee,  for  delightful  are  thy 
coves  and  havens,  thy  kind  soft  flowery  fields, 
thy  pleasant  green-sided  hills  ;  and  little  was  our 
need  of  departing." 

Then  in  her  song  she  went  over  the  glens  of 
their  lordship,  naming  them  all,  and  calling  to 
mind  how  here  they  hunted  the  stag,  here  they 
fished,  here  they  slept,  with  the  swaying  fern  for 
pillows,  and  here  the  cuckoo  called  to  them.  And 
"  Never,"  she  sang,  "  would  I  quit  Alba  were  it 
not  that  Naisi  sailed  thence  in  his  ship." 

They  landed  first  under  Fair  Head,  and  then 
later  at  Rathlin  Island,  where  their  fate  met  them 
at  last,  as  Deirdre  had  prophesied.  It  is  a  sad 
story,  and  we  can  easily  weep  at  the  thrilling  mo 
ment  when,  there  being  no  man  among  the  Ultoni- 
ans  to  do  the  king's  bidding,  a  Norse  captive  takes 
Naisi's  magic  sword  and  strikes  off  the  heads  of 
the  three  sons  of  Usnach  with  one  swift  blow, 
and  Deirdre,  falling  prone  upon  the  dead  bodies, 
chants  a  lament ;  and  when  she  has  finished  sing 
ing,  she  puts  her  pale  cheek  against  Naisi's,  and 
dies ;  and  a  great  cairn  is  piled  over  them,  and 
an  inscription  in  Ogam  set  upon  it. 

We  were  full  of  legendary  lore,  these  days,  for 
we  were  fresh  from  a  sight  of  Glen  ArifT.  Who 
that  has  ever  chanced  to  be  there  in  a  pelting 
rain  but  will  remember  its  innumerable  little  wa 
terfalls,  and  the  great  falls  of  Ess-na-Crubh  and 
Ess-na-Craoibhe  !  And  who  can  ever  forget  the 


164         Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

atmosphere  of  romance  that  broods  over  these 
Irish  glens  ! 

We  have  had  many  advantages  here  as  else 
where  ;  for  kind  Dr.  La  Touche,  Lady  Killbally, 
and  Mrs.  Colquhoun  follow  us  with  letters,  and 
wherever  there  is  an  unusual  personage  in  a  dis 
trict  we  are  commended  to  his  or  her  care. 
Sometimes  it  is  one  of  the  "  grand  quality,"  and 
often  it  is  an  Ossianic  sort  of  person  like  Shaun 
O'Grady,  who  lives  in  a  little  whitewashed  cabin, 
and  who  has,  like  Mr.  Yeats'  Gleeman,  "  the 
whole  Middle  Ages  under  his  frieze  coat."  The 
longer  and  more  intimately  we  know  these  peas 
ants,  the  more  we  realize  how  much  in  imagina 
tion,  or  in  the  clouds,  if  you  will,  they  live.  The 
ragged  man  of  leisure  you  meet  on  the  road  may 
be  a  philosopher,  and  is  still  more  likely  to  be 
a  poet ;  but  unless  you  have  something  of  each 
in  yourself,  you  may  mistake  him  for  a  mere  beg 
gar. 

"The  practical  ones  have  all  emigrated,"  a 
Dublin  novelist  told  us,  "  and  the  dreamers  are 
left.  The  heads  of  the  older  ones  are  filled  with 
poetry  and  legends ;  they  see  nothing  as  it  is, 
but  always  through  some  iridescent-tinted  me 
dium.  Their  waking  moments,  when  not  tor 
mented  by  hunger,  are  spent  in  heaven,  and  they 
all  live  in  a  dream,  whether  it  be  of  the  next 
world  or  of  a  revolution.  Effort  is  to  them  use 
less,  submission  to  everybody  and  everything  the 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences         165 

only  safe  course ;  in  a  word,  fatalism  expresses 
their  attitude  to  life." 

Much  of  this  submission  to  the  inevitable  is  a 
product  of  past  poverty,  misfortune,  and  famine, 
and  the  rest  is  undoubtedly  a  trace  of  the  same 
spirit  that  we  find  in  the  lives  and  writings  of  the 
saints,  and  which  is  an  integral  part  of  the  mys 
tery  and  the  tradition  of  Romanism.  We  who 
live  in  the  bright  (and  sometimes  staring)  sun 
light  of  common  sense  can  hardly  hope  to  pene 
trate  the  dim,  mysterious  world  of  the  Catholic 
peasant,  with  his  unworldliness  and  sense  of  fail 
ure. 

Dr.  Douglas  Hyde,  an  Irish  scholar  and  stanch 
Protestant  says :  "  A  pious  race  is  the  Gaelic 
race.  The  Irish  Gael  is  pious  by  nature.  There 
is  not  an  Irishman  in  a  hundred  in  whom  is  the 
making  of  an  unbeliever.  The  spirit,  and  the 
things  of  the  spirit,  affect  him  more  powerfully 
than  the  body,  and  the  things  of  the  body.  .  .  . 
What  is  invisible  for  other  people  is  visible  for 
him.  .  .  .  He  feels  invisible  powers  before  him, 
and  by  his  side,  and  at  his  back,  throughout  the 
day  and  throughout  the  night.  .  .  .  His  mind  on 
the  subject  may  be  summed  up  in  the  two  say 
ings  :  that  of  the  early  Church,  '  Let  ancient 
things  prevail,'  and  that  of  St.  Augustine,  '  Credo 
quia  impossibile.'  Nature  did  not  form  him  to 
be  an  unbeliever ;  unbelief  is  alien  to  his  mind 
and  contrary  to  his  feelings." 


1 66         Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

Here,  only  a  few  miles  away,  is  the  Slemish 
mountain  where  St.  Patrick,  then  a  captive  of 
the  rich  cattle-owner  Milcho,  herded  his  sheep 
and  swine.  Here,  when  his  flocks  were  sleep 
ing,  he  poured  out  his  prayers,  a  Christian  voice 
in  pagan  darkness.  It  was  the  memory  of  that 
darkness,  you  remember,  that  brought  him  back, 
years  after,  to  convert  Milcho.  Here,  too,  they 
say,  lies  the  great  bard  Ossian  ;  for  they  love  to 
think  that  Finn's  son  Oisin,1  the  hero  poet,  sur 
vived  to  the  time  of  St.  Patrick,  three  hundred 
years  after  the  other  "  Fianna "  had  vanished 
from  the  earth,  —  the  three  centuries  being  passed 
in  Tir-nan-og,  the  Land  of  Youth,  where  the  great 
Oisin  married  the  king's  daughter,  Niam  of  the 
Golden  Hair.  "  Ossian  after  the  Fianna  "  is  a 
phrase  which  has  become  the  synonym  of  all  sur 
vivors'  sorrow.  Blinded  by  tears,  broken  by  age, 
the  hero  bard  when  he  returns  to  earth  has  no 
fellowship  but  with  grief,  and  thus  he  sings  :  — 

"  No  hero  now  where  heroes  hurled,  — 
Long  this  night  the  clouds  delay  — 
No  man  like  me,  in  all  the  world, 
Alone  with  grief,  and  gray. 

"  Long  this  night  the  clouds  delay  — 
I  raise  their  grave  earn,  stone  on  stone, 
For  Finn  and  Fianna  passed  away  — 
I,  Ossian  left  alone." 

In  more  senses  than  one  Irish  folk-lore  is  Irish 

1  Pronounced  Isheen'  in  Munster,  Osh'in'  in  Ulster. 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences         167 

history.  At  least  the  traditions  that  have  been 
handed  down  from  one  generation  to  another,  con 
tain  not  only  the  sometimes  authentic  record  of 
events,  but  a  revelation  of  the  Milesian  tempera 
ment,  with  its  mirth  and  its  melancholy,  its  ex 
uberant  fancy  and  its  passion.  So  in  these  weird 
tales  there  is  plenty  of  history,  and  plenty  of 
poetry,  to  one  who  will  listen  to  it ;  but  the  high 
and  tragic  story  of  Ireland  has  been  cherished 
mainly  in  the  sorrowful  traditions  of  a  defeated 
race,  and  the  legends  have  not  yet  been  wrought 
into  undying  verse.  Erin's  songs  of  battle  could 
only  recount  weary  successions  of  Flodden  Fields, 
with  never  a  Bannockburn  and  its  nimbus  of 
victory;  for,  as  Ossian  says  of  his  countrymen, 
"  They  went  forth  to  the  war,  but  they  always 
fell ; "  but  somewhere  in  the  green  isle  is  an  un 
born  poet  who  will  put  all  this  mystery,  beauty, 
passion,  romance,  and  sadness,  these  tragic  mem 
ories,  these  beliefs,  these  visions  of  unfulfilled 
desire,  into  verse  that  will  glow  on  the  page  and 
live  forever.  Somewhere  is  a  mother  who  has 
kept  all  these  things  in  her  heart,  and  who  will 
bear  a  son  to  write  them.  Meantime,  who  shall 
say  that  they  have  not  been  imbedded  in  the  lan 
guage,  as  flower  petals  might  be  in  amber  ?  — 
that  language  which,  as  an  English  scholar  says, 
"  has  been  blossoming  there  unseen,  like  a  hid 
den  garland  of  roses  ;  and  whenever  the  wind 
has  blown  from  the  west,  English  poetry  has  felt 
the  vague  perfume  of  it." 


XVIII 

LIMAVADY    LOVE-LETTERS 

"  As  beautiful  Kitty  one  morning  was  tripping 
With  a  pitcher  of  milk  from  the  fair  of  Coleraine, 
When  she  saw  me  she  stumbled,  the  pitcher  it  tumbled, 
And  all  the  sweet  buttermilk  watered  the  plain." 

Anonymous. 

WE  wanted  to  cross  to  Rathlin  Island,  which 
is  "  like  an  Irish  stockinge,  the  toe  of  which  point- 
eth  to  the  main  lande."  That  would  bring  Fran- 
cesca  six  miles  nearer  to  Scotland  and  her  Scottish 
lover  ;  and  we  wished  to  see  the  castle  of  Robert 
the  Bruce,  where,  according  to  the  legend,  he 
learned  his  lesson  from  the  "  six  times  baffled 
spider."  We  delayed  too  long,  however,  and  the 
Sea  of  Moyle  looked  as  bleak  and  stormy  as  it 
did  to  the  children  of  Lir.  We  had  no  mind  to 
be  swallowed  up  in  Brecain's  Caldron,  where  the 
grandson  of  Niall  and  the  Nine  Hostages  sank 
with  his  fifty  curraghs,  so  we  took  a  day  of  golf 
at  the  Ballycastle  links.  Salemina,  who  is  a  neo 
phyte,  found  a  forlorn  lady  driving  and  putting 
about  by  herself,  and  they  made  a  match  just  to 
increase  the  interest  of  the  game.  There  was  but 
one  boy  in  evidence,  and  the  versatile  Benella 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences         169 

offered  to  caddie  for  them,  leaving  the  more  ex 
perienced  gossoon  to  Francesca  and  me.  The 
Irish  caddie  does  not,  on  the  whole,  perhaps  man 
ifest  so  keen  an  interest  in  the  fine  points  of 
the  game  as  his  Scottish  brother.  He  is  some 
what  languid  in  his  search  for  a  ball,  and  will 
occasionally,  when  serving  amiable  ladies,  sit 
under  a  tree  in  the  sun  and  speculate  as  to  its 
whereabouts.  As  for  staying  by  you  while  you 
"  hole  out  "  on  your  last  green,  he  has  no  possi 
ble  interest  in  that  proceeding,  and  is  off  and 
away,  giving  his  perfunctory  and  half-hearted  pol 
ish  to  your  clubs  while  you  are  passing  through 
this  thrilling  crisis.  Salemina,  wishing  to  know 
what  was  considered  a  good  score  by  local  play 
ers  on  these  links,  asked  our  young  friend  "  what 
they  got  round  in,  here,"  and  was  answered, 
"  They  tries  to  go  round  in  as  few  as  possible, 
ma'am,  but  they  mostly  takes  more  !  "  We  all 
came  together  again  at  luncheon,  and  Salemina 
returned  flushed  with  victory.  She  had  made 
the  nine  hole  course  in  one  hundred  and  sixty, 
and  had  beaten  her  adversary  five  up  and  four 
to  play. 

The  next  morning,  bright  and  early,  we  left 
for  Coleraine,  a  great  Presbyterian  stronghold 
in  what  is  called  by  the  Roman  Catholics  the 
"  black  north."  If  we  liked  it,  and  saw  anything 
of  Kitty's  descendants,  or  any  nice  pitchers  to 
break,  or  any  reason  for  breaking  them,  we  in- 


170         Penelope  s  IrisJi  Experiences 

tended  to  stop  ;  if  not,  then  to  push  on  to  the 
walled  town  of  Derry,  — 

"  Where  Foyle  his  swelling  waters 
'  Rolls  northward  to  the  main." 

We  thought  it  Francesca's  duty,  as  she  was  to  be 
the  wife  of  a  Scottish  minister  of  the  Established 
Church,  to  look  up  Presbyterianism  in  Ireland 
whenever  and  wherever  possible,  with  a  view  to 
discoursing  learnedly  about  it  in  her  letters,  — 
though,  as  she  confesses  ingenuously,  Ronald,  in 
his,  never  so  much  as  mentions  Presbyterianism. 
As  for  ourselves,  we  determined  to  observe  all 
theological  differences  between  Protestants  and 
Roman  Catholics,  but  leave  Presbyterianism  to 
gang  its  ain  gait.  We  had  devoted  hours  —  yes, 
days  —  in  Edinburgh  to  the  understanding  of  the 
subtle  and  technical  barriers  which  separated  the 
Free  Kirkers  and  the  United  Presbyterians  ;  and 
the  first  thing  they  did,  after  we  had  completely 
mastered  the  subject,  was  to  unite.  It  is  all  very 
well  for  Salemina,  who  condenses  her  information 
and  stows  it  away  neatly ;  but  we  who  have 
small  storage  room  and  inferior  methods  of  pack 
ing  must  be  as  economical  as  possible  in  amass 
ing  facts. 

If  we  had  been  touring  properly,  of  course  we 
should  have  been  going  to  the  Giant's  Causeway 
and  the  swinging  bridge  at  Carrick-a-rede ;  but 
propriety  is  the  last  thing  we  aim  at,  in  our 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences         171 

itineraries.  We  were  within  worshiping  distance 
of  two  rather  important  shrines  in  our  literary 
pilgrimage  ;  for  we  had  met  a  very  knowledge 
able  traveler  at  the  Sorley  Boy,  and  after  a  little 
chat  with  him  had  planned  a  day  of  surprises  for 
the  academic  Miss  Peabody.  We  proposed  to 
halt  at  Port  Stewart,  lunch  at  Coleraine,  sleep  at 
Limavady ;  and  meantime  Salemina  was  to  read 
all  the  books  at  her  command,  and  guess,  we 
hoped  vainly,  the  why  and  wherefore  of  these 
stops. 

On  the  appointed  day,  the  lady  in  question 
drove  in  state  on  a  car  with  Benella,  but  Fran- 
cesca  and  I  hired  a  couple  of  very  wheezy  bicy 
cles  for  the  journey.  We  had  a  thrilling  start ; 
for  it  chanced  to  be  a  Fair  day  in  Ballycastle, 
and  we  wheeled  through  a  sea  of  squealing,  bolt 
ing  pigs,  stupid  sheep,  and  unruly  cows,  all  pur 
sued  on  every  side  by  their  drivers.  To  alight 
from  a  bicycle  in  such  a  whirl  of  beasts  always 
seems  certain  death  ;  to  remain  seated  diminishes, 
I  believe,  the  number  of  one's  days  of  life  to  an 
appreciable  extent.  Francesca  chose  the  first 
course,  and,  standing  still  in  the  middle  of  the 
street,  called  upon  everybody  within  hearing  to 
save  her,  and  that  right  speedily.  A  crowd  of 
"jibbing"  heifers  encircled  her  on  all  sides, 
while  a  fat  porker,  "  who  (his  driver  said)  might 
be  a  prize  pig  by  his  impidence,"  and  a  donkey 
that  was  feelin'  blue-mouldy  for  want  of  a  batin', 


172         Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

tried  to  poke  their  noses  into  the  group.  Salemi- 
na's  only  weapon  was  her  scarlet  parasol,  and, 
standing  on  the  step  of  her  side  car,  she  bran 
dished  this  with  such  terrible  effect  that  the  only 
bull  in  the  cavalcade  put  up  his  head  and  roared. 
"  Have  conduct,  woman  dear  !  "  cried  his  owner 
to  Salemina.  "  Sure  if  you  kape  on  moidherin' 
him  wid  that  red  ombrelly,  you  '11  have  him  ugly 
on  me  immajently,  and  the  divil  a  bit  o'  me  can 
stop  him."  "  Don't  be  cryin'  that  way,  asthore," 
he  went  on,  going  to  Francesca's  side,  and  pilot 
ing  her  tenderly  to  the  hedge.  "  Sure  I  '11  nour 
ish  him  wid  the  whip  whin  I  get  him  to  a  more 
remoted  place." 

We  had  no  more  adventures,  but  Francesca  was 
so  unhinged  by  her  unfortunate  exit  from  Ballycas- 
tle  that,  after  a  few  miles,  she  announced  her  in 
tention  of  putting  her  machine  and  herself  on  the 
car ;  whereupon  Benella  proclaimed  herself  a 
competent  cyclist,  and  climbed  down  blithely  to 
mount  the  discarded  wheel.  Her  ideas  of  pro 
priety  were  by  this  time  so  developed  that  she 
rode  ten  or  twelve  feet  behind  me,  where  she 
looked  quaint  enough,  in  her  black  dress  and 
little  black  bonnet  with  its  white  lawn  strings. 

"  Sure  it 's  a  quare  footman  ye  have,  me  lady," 
said  a  genial  and  friendly  person  who  was  sit 
ing  by  the  roadside  smoking  his  old  dudeen.  An 
Irishman,  somehow,  is  always  going  to  his  work 
"  jist,"  or  coming  from  it,  or  thinking  how  it  shall 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences         173 

presently  be  done,  or  meditating  on  the  next 
step  in  the  process,  or  resting  a  bit  before  taking 
it  up  again,  or  reflecting  whether  the  weather  is 
on  the  whole  favorable  to  its  proper  performance  j 
but  however  poor  and  needy  he  may  be,  it  is 
somewhat  difficult  to  catch  him  at  the  precise 
working  moment.  Mr.  Alfred  Austin  says  of  the 
Irish  peasants  that  idleness  and  poverty  seem 
natural  to  them.  "  Life  to  the  Scotsman  or  Eng 
lishman  is  a  business  to  conduct,  to  extend,  to 
render  profitable.  To  the  Irishman  it  is  a  dream, 
a  little  bit  of  passing  consciousness  on  a  rather 
hard  pillow ;  the  hard  part  of  it  being  the  occa 
sional  necessity  for  work,  which  spoils  the  ten 
derness  and  continuity  of  the  dream." 

Presently  we  passed  the  Castle,  rode  along  a 
neat  quay  with  a  row  of  houses  advertising  lodg 
ings  to  let ;  and  here  is  Lever  Cottage,  where 
Harry  Lorrequer  was  written ;  for  Lever  was  dis 
pensary  doctor  in  Port  Stewart  when  his  first 
book  was  appearing  in  the  Dublin  University 
Magazine. 

We  did  not  fancy  Coleraine  ;  it  looked  like  any 
thing  but  Cuil-rathain,  a  ferny  corner.  Kitty's 
sweet  buttermilk  may  have  watered,  but  it  had 
not  fertilized  the  plain,  though  the  town  itself 
seemed  painfully  prosperous.  Neither  the  Cloth- 
workers'  Inn  nor  the  Corporation  Arms  looked  a 
pleasant  stopping  place,  and  the  humble  inn  we 
finally  selected  for  a  brief  rest  proved  to  be  about 


174         Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

as  gay  as  a  family  vault,  with  a  landlady  who  had 
all  the  characteristics  of  a  poker  except  its  occa 
sional  warmth,  as  the  Liberator  said  of  another 
stiff  and  formal  person.  Whether  she  was  Scot 
or  Saxon  I  know  not ;  she  was  certainly  not  Celt, 
and  certainly  no  Barney  McCrea  of  her  day  would 
have  kissed  her  if  she  had  spilled  ever  so  many 
pitchers  of  sweet  buttermilk  over  the  plain  ;  so 
we  took  the  railway,  and  departed  with  delight  for 
Limavady,  where  Thackeray,  fresh  from  his  visit 
to  Charles  Lever,  laid  his  poetical  tribute  at  the 
stockingless  feet  of  Miss  Margaret  of  that  town. 

O'Cahan,  whose  chief  seat  was  at  Limavady, 
was  the  principal  urraght  of  O'Neill,  and  when 
one  of  the  great  clan  was  "proclaimed  "  at  Tul- 
laghogue  it  was  the  magnificent  privilege  of  the 
O'Cahan  to  toss  a  shoe  over  his  head.  We  slept 
at  O'Cahan's  Hotel,  and  —  well,  one  must  sleep; 
and  wherever  we  attend  to  that  necessary  func 
tion  without  due  preparation,  we  generally  make 
a  mistake  in  the  selection  of  the  particular  spot. 
Protestantism  does  not  necessarily  mean  cleanli 
ness,  although  it  may  have  natural  tendencies  in 
that  direction  ;  and  we  find,  to  our  surprise  (a 
surprise  rooted,  probably,  in  bigotry),  that  Catholi 
cism  can  be  as  clean  as  a  penny  whistle,  now 
and  again.  There  were  no  special  privileges  at 
O'Cahan's  for  maids,  and  Benella,  therefore,  had 
a  delightful  evening  in  the  coffee  room  with  a 
storm-bound  commercial  traveler.  As  for  Fran- 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences         175 

cesca  and  me,  there  was  plenty  to  occupy  us  in 
our  regular  letters  to  Ronald  and  Himself ;  and 
Salemina  wrote  several  sheets  of  thin  paper  to 
somebody,  —  no  one  in  America,  either,  for  we 
saw  her  put  on  a  penny  stamp. 

Our  pleasant  duties  over,  we  looked  into  the 
cheerful  glow  of  the  turf  sods  while  I  read  aloud 
Thackeray's  Peg  of  Limavady.  He  spells  the 
town  with  two  */'s,  by  the  way,  to  insure  its  being 
rhymed  properly  with  Paddy  and  daddy. 

"  Riding  from  Coleraine 

(Famed  for  lovely  Kitty), 
Came  a  Cockney  bound 

Unto  Derry  city ; 
Weary  was  his  soul, 

Shivering  and  sad  he 
Bumped  along  the  road 

Leads  to  Limavaddy. 


"  Limavaddy  inn  's 

But  a  humble  baithouse, 
Where  you  may  procure 

Whisky  and  potatoes ; 
Landlord  at  the  door 

Gives  a  smiling  welcome 
To  the  shivering  wights 

Who  to  his  hotel  come. 
Landlady  within 

Sits  and  knits  a  stocking, 
With  a  wary  foot 

Baby's  cradle  rocking. 

"  Presently  a  maid 

Enters  with  the  liquor 
(Half-a-pint  of  ale 
Frothing  in  a  beaker). 


176         Penelope's  Irish  Experiences 

Gads  !  I  did  n't  know 

What  my  beating  heart  meant : 
Hebe's  self  I  thought 

Enter'd  the  apartment. 
As  she  came  she  smiled, 

And  the  smile  bewitching, 
On  my  word  and  honour, 

Lighted  all  the  kitchen  ! 

"  This  I  do  declare, 

Happy  is  the  laddy 
Who  the  heart  can  share 

Of  Peg  of  Limavaddy. 
Married  if  she  were, 

Blest  would  be  the  daddy 
Of  the  children  fair 

Of  Peg  of  Limavaddy. 
Beauty  is  not  rare 

In  the  land  of  Paddy, 
Fair  beyond  compare 

Is  Peg  of  Limavaddy." 

This  cheered  us  a  bit ;  but  the  wind  sighed  in 
the  trees,  the  rain  dripped  on  the  window  panes, 
and  we  felt  for  the  first  time  a  consciousness  of 
home-longing.  Francesca  sat  on  a  low  stool, 
looking  into  the  fire,  Ronald's  last  letter  in  her 
lap,  and  it  was  easy  indeed  to  see  that  her  heart 
was  in  the  Highlands.  She  had  been  giving  us  a 
few  extracts  from  the  communication,  an  unusual 
proceeding,  as  Ronald,  in  his  ordinary  correspond 
ence,  is  evidently  not  a  quotable  person.  We 
smiled  over  his  account  of  a  visit  to  his  old  parish 
of  Inchcaldy  in  Fifeshire.  There  is  a  certain 
large  orphanage  in  the  vicinity,  in  which  we  had 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences         177 

all  taken  an  interest,  chiefly  because  our  friends 
the  Macraes  of  Pettybaw  House  were  among  its 
guardians. 

It  seems  that  Lady  Rowardennan  of  the  Castle 
had  promised  the  orphans,  en  bloc,  that  those  who 
passed  through  an  entire  year  without  once  fall 
ing  into  falsehood  should  have  a  treat  or  festival 
of  their  own  choosing.  On  the  eventful  day  of 
decision,  those  orphans,  male  and  female,  who 
had  not  for  a  twelvemonth  deviated  from  the 
truth  by  a  hair's  breadth,  raised  their  little  white 
hands  (emblematic  of  their  pure  hearts  and  lips), 
and  were  solemnly  counted.  Then  came  the  un 
happy  moment  when  a  scattering  of  small  grimy 
paws  was  timidly  put  up,  and  their  falsifying 
owners  confessed  that  they  had  fibbed  more  than 
once  during  the  year.  These  tearful  fibbers  were 
also  counted,  and  sent  from  the  room,  while  the 
non-fibbers  chose  their  reward,  which  was  to  sail 
around  the  Bass  Rock  and  the  Isle  of  May  in  a 
steam  tug. 

On  the  festival  day,  the  matron  of  the  orphan 
age  chanced  on  the  happy  thought  that  it  might 
have  a  moral  effect  on  the  said  fibbers  to  see  the 
non-fibbers  depart  in  a  blaze  of  glory ;  so  they 
were  taken  to  the  beach  to  watch  the  tug  start 
on  its  voyage.  The  confessed  criminals  looked 
wretched  enough,  Ronald  wrote,  when  forsaken 
by  their  virtuous  playmates,  who  stepped  jauntily 
on  board,  holding  their  sailor  hats  on  their  heads 


178         Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

and  carrying  nice  little  luncheon  baskets ;  so 
miserably  unhappy,  indeed,  did  they  seem  that 
certain  sympathetic  and  ill-balanced  persons 
sprang  to  their  relief,  providing  them  with  sand 
wiches,  sweeties,  and  pennies.  It  was  a  lovely 
day,  and  when  the  fibbers'  tears  were  dried  they 
played  merrily  on  the  sand,  their  games  directed 
and  shared  by  the  aforesaid  misguided  persons. 

Meantime  a  high  wind  had  sprung  up  at  sea, 
and  the  tug  was  tossed  to  and  fro  upon  the  foamy 
deep.  So  many  and  so  varied  were  the  ills  of  the 
righteous  orphans  that  the  matron  could  not  at 
tend  to  all  of  them  properly,  and  they  were  laid 
on  benches  or  on  the  deck,  where  they  languidly 
declined  luncheon,  and  wept  for  a  sight  of  land. 
At  five  the  tug  steamed  up  to  the  home  landing. 
A  few  of  the  voyagers  were  able  to  walk  ashore, 
some  were  assisted,  others  were  carried  ;  and  as 
the  pale,  haggard,  truthful  company  gathered  on 
the  beach,  they  were  met  by  a  boisterous,  happy 
crowd  of  Ananiases  and  Sapphiras,  sunburned, 
warm,  full  of  tea  and  cakes  and  high  spirits,  and 
with  the  moral  law  already  so  uncertain  in  their 
minds  that  at  the  sight  of  the  suffering  non-liars 
it  tottered  to  its  fall. 

Ronald  hopes  that  Lady  Rowardennan  and  the 
matron  may  perhaps  have  gained  some  useful 
experience  by  the  incident,  though  the  orphans, 
truthful  and  untruthful,  are  hopelessly  mixed  in 
their  views  of  right  doing. 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences         179 

He  is  staying  now  at  the  great  house  of  the 
neighborhood,  while  his  new  manse  is  being  put 
in  order.  Roderick,  the  piper,  he  says,  has  a 
grand  collection  of  pipe  tunes  given  him  by  an 
officer  of  the  Black  Watch.  Francesca,  when  she 
and  Ronald  visit  the  Castle  on  their  wedding 
journey,  is  to  have  Johnnie  Cope  to  wake  her  in 
the  morning,  Brose  and  Butter  just  before  dinner 
is  served,  a  reel,  a  strathspey,  and  a  march  while 
the  meal  is  going  on,  and  last  of  all  The  High 
land  Wedding.  Ronald  does  not  know  whether 
there  are  any  Lowland  Scots  or  English  words  to 
this  pipe  tune,  but  it  is  always  played  in  the  High 
lands  after  the  actual  marriage,  and  the  words  in 
Gaelic  are,  "  Alas  for  me  if  the  wife  I  have  mar 
ried  is  not  a  good  one,  for  she  will  eat  the  food 
and  not  do  the  work !  " 

"You  don't  think  Ronald  meant  anything  per 
sonal  in  quoting  that  ? "  I  asked  Francesca  teas- 
ingly ;  but  she  shot  me  such  a  reproachful  look 
that  I  had  n't  the  heart  to  persist,  her  face  was  so 
full  of  self-distrust  and  love  and  longing. 

What  creatures  of  sense  we  are,  after  all ;  and 
in  certain  moods,  of  what  avail  is  it  if  the  beloved 
object  is  alive,  safe,  loyal,  so  long  as  he  is  absent  ? 
He  may  write  letters  like  Horace  Walpole  or 
Chesterfield,  —  better  still,  like  Alfred  de  Musset, 
or  George  Sand,  or  the  Brownings  ;  but  one  clasp 
of  the  hand  that  moved  the  pen  is  worth  an  ocean 
of  words  !  You  believe  only  in  the  etherealized, 


180         Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

the  spiritualized  passion  of  love  ;  you  know  that 
it  can  exist  through  years  of  separation,  can  live 
and  grow  where  a  coarser  feeling  would  die  for 
lack  of  nourishment  ;  still  though  your  spirit 
should  be  strong  enough  to  meet  its  spirit  mate 
somewhere  in  the  realms  of  imagination,  and  the 
bodily  presence  ought  not  really  to  be  necessary, 
your  stubborn  heart  of  flesh  craves  sight  and 
sound  and  touch.  That  is  the  only  pitiless  part 
of  death,  it  seems  to  me.  We  have  had  the  friend 
ship,  the  love,  the  sympathy,  and  these  are  things 
that  can  never  die  ;  they  have  made  us  what  we 
are,  and  they  are  by  their  very  nature  immortal ; 
yet  we  would  come  near  to  bartering  all  these 
spiritual  possessions  for  the  "  touch  of  a  vanished 
hand,  and  the  sound  of  a  voice  that  is  still." 

How  could  I  ever  think  life  easy  enough  to  be 
ventured  on  alone  !  It  is  so  beautiful  to  feel  one's 
self  of  infinite  value  to  one  other  human  creature  ; 
to  hear  beside  one's  own  step  the  tread  of  a  chosen 
companion  on  the  same  road.  And  if  the  way  be 
dusty  or  the  hills  difficult  to  climb,  each  can  say 
to  the  other  :  "  I  love  you,  dear ;  lean  on  me  and 
walk  in  confidence.  I  can  always  be  counted  on, 
whatever  happens." 


XIX 

" IN  OULD  DONEGAL  " 

"  Here  's  a  health  to  you,  Father  O'Flynn  ! 
Slainte,  and  slainte,  and  slainte  agin  ; 
Pow'rf  ulest  preacher  and  tenderest  teacher, 
And  kindliest  creature  in  ould  Donegal." 

Alfred  Perceval  Graves. 

COOMNAGEEHA    HOTEL, 

In  ould  Donegal. 

IT  is  a  far  cry  from  the  kingdom  of  Kerry  to 
"ould  Donegal,"  where  we  have  been  traveling 
for  a  week,  chiefly  in  the  hope  of  meeting  Father 
O'Flynn.  We  miss  our  careless,  genial,  ragged, 
southern  Paddy  just  a  bit ;  for  he  was  a  pictur 
esque,  likable  figure,  on  the  whole,  and  easier  to 
know  than  this  Ulster  Irishman,  the  product  of  a 
mixed  descent. 

We  did  not  stop  long  in  Belfast ;  for  if  there  is 
anything  we  detest,  when  on  our  journeys,  it  is 
to  mix  too  much  with  people  of  industry,  thrift, 
and  business  sagacity.  Sturdy,  prosperous,  calcu 
lating,  well-to-do  Protestants  are  well  enough  in 
their  way,  and  undoubtedly  they  make  a  very  good 
backbone  for  Ireland ;  but  we  crave  something 
more  romantic  than  the  citizen  virtues,  or  we 


1 82         Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

should  have  remained  in  our  own  country,  where 
they  are  tolerably  common,  although  we  have  not 
as  yet  anything  approaching  overproduction. 

Belfast,  it  seems,  is  and  has  always  been,  a 
centre  of  Presbyterianism.  The  members  of  the 
Presbytery  protested  against  the  execution  of 
Charles  L,  and  received  an  irate  reply  from  Milton, 
who  said  that  "the  blockish  presbyters  of  Claude- 
boy  "  were  "  egregious  liars  and  impostors,"  who 
meant  to  £tir  up  rebellion  "from  their  unchris 
tian  synagogue  at  Belfast  in  a  barbarous  nook  of 
Ireland." 

Dr.  La  Touche  writes  to  Salemina  that  we  need 
not  try  to  understand  all  the  religious  and  politi 
cal  complications  which  surround  us.  They  are  by 
no  means  as  violent  or  as  many  as  in  Thackeray's 
day,  when  the  great  English  author  found  nine 
shades  of  politico-religious  differences  in  the  Irish 
Liverpool.  As  the  impartial  observer  must,  in  such 
a  case,  necessarily  displease  eight  parties,  and 
probably  the  whole  nine,  Thackeray  advised  a 
rigid  abstinence  from  all  intellectual  curiosity. 
Dr.  La  Touche  says,  if  we  wish  to  know  the  north 
better,  it  will  do  us  no  harm  to  study  the  Planta 
tion  of  Ulster,  the  United  Irish  movement,  Orange- 
ism,  Irish  Jacobitism,  the  effect  of  French  and 
Swiss  Republicanism  in  the  evolution  of  public 
sentiment,  and  the  close  relation  and  affection 
that  formerly  existed  between  the  north  of  Ireland 
and  New  England.  (This  last  topic  seems  to  ap- 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences         183 

peal  to  Salemina  particularly.)  He  also  alludes 
to  Tories  and  Rapparees,  Rousseau  and  Thomas 
Paine  and  Owen  Roe  O'Neill,  but  I  have  entirely 
forgotten  their  connection  with  the  subject.  Fran- 
cesca  and  I  are  thoroughly  enjoying  ourselves,  as 
only  those  people  can  who  never  take  notes,  and 
never  try,  when  Pandora's  box  is  opened  in  their 
neighborhood,  to  seize  the  heterogeneous  contents 
and  put  them  back  properly,  with  nice  little  labels 
on  them. 

Ireland  is  no  longer  a  battlefield  of  English 
parties,  neither  is  it  wholly  a  laboratory  for  politi 
cal  experiment ;  but  from  having  been  both  the 
one  and  the  other,  its  features  are  a  bit  knocked 
out  of  shape  and  proportion,  as  it  were.  We 
have  bought  two  hideous  engravings  of  The  Bat 
tle  of  the  Boyne  and  The  Secret  of  England's 
Greatness  ;  and  whenever  we  stay  for  a  night  in 
any  inn  where  perchance  these  are  not,  we  pin 
them  on  the  wall,  and  are  received  into  the  land 
lady's  heart  at  once.  I  don't  know  which  is  the 
finer  study :  the  picture  of  his  Majesty  Wil 
liam  III.  crossing  the  Boyne,  or  the  plump  little 
Queen  presenting  a  huge  family  Bible  to  an  ap 
parently  uninterested  black  youth.  In  the  latter 
work  of  art  the  eye  is  confused  at  first  as  the  three 
principal  features  approach  each  other  very  nearly 
in  size,  and  Francesca  asked  innocently,  "  Which 
is  the  secret  of  England's  greatness,  —  the  Bible, 
the  Queen,  or  the  black  man  ?  " 


184         Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

This  is  a  thriving  town,  and  we  are  at  a  smart 
hotel  which  had  for  two  years  an  English  man 
ager.  The  scent  of  the  roses  hangs  round  it  still, 
but  it  is  gradually  growing  fainter  under  the 
stress  of  small  patronage  and  other  adverse  cir 
cumstances.  The  table  linen  is  a  trifle  ragged, 
though  clean  ;  but  the  circle  of  red  and  green 
wineglasses  by  each  plate,  an  array  not  borne  out 
by  the  number  of  vintages  on  the  wine  list,  the 
tiny  ferns  scattered  everywhere  in  innumerable 
pots,  and  the  dozens  of  minute  glass  vases,  each 
holding  a  few  blue  hyacinths,  give  an  air  of  urban 
elegance  to  the  dining-room.  The  guests  are  re 
quested  in  printed  placards  to  be  punctual  at 
meals,  especially  at  the  seven-thirty  table  (Thbte 
dinner,  and  the  management  itself  is  punctual  at 
this  function  about  seven  forty-five.  This  is  much 
better  than  at  the  south,  where  we,  and  sixty 
other  travelers,  were  once  kept  waiting  fifteen 
minutes  between  the  soup  and  the  fish  course. 
When  we  were  finally  served  with  half-cooked 
turbot,  a  pleasant-spoken  waitress  went  about  to 
each  table,  explaining  to  the  irate  guests  that  the 
cook  was  "  not  at  her  best."  We  caught  a  glimpse 
of  her  as  she  was  being  borne  aloft,  struggling 
and  eloquent,  and  were  able  to  understand  the 
reason  of  her  unachieved  ideals. 

There  is  nothing  sacred  about  dinner  to  the 
average  Irishman  ;  he  is  willing  to  take  anything 
that  comes,  as  a  rule,  and  cooking  is  not  regarded 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences         185 

as  a  fine  art  here.  Perhaps  occasional  flashes 
of  starvation  and  seasons  of  famine  have  ren 
dered  the  Irish  palate  easier  to  please  ;  at  all 
events,  wherever  the  national  god  may  be,  its 
pedestal  is  not  in  the  stomach.  Our  breakfast, 
day  after  day,  week  after  week,  has  been  bacon 
and  eggs.  One  morning  we  had  tomatoes  on  ba 
con,  and  concluded  that  the  cook  had  experienced 
religion  or  fallen  in  love,  since  both  these  opera 
tions  send  a  flush  of  blood  to  the  brain  and  stim 
ulate  the  mental  processes.  But  no ;  we  found 
simply  that  the  eggs  had  not  been  brought  in  time 
for  breakfast.  There  is  no  consciousness  of  mo 
notony,  —  far  from  it ;  the  nobility  and  gentry 
can  at  least  eat  what  they  choose,  and  they  choose 
bacon  and  eggs.  There  is  no  running  of  the  fam 
ily  gamut,  either,  from  plain  boiled  to  omelet ; 
poached  or  fried  eggs  on  bacon,  it  is,  week  days 
and  Sundays.  The  luncheon,  too,  is  rarely  in 
spired  :  they  eat  cold  joint  of  beef  with  pickled 
beet  root,  or  mutton  and  boiled  potatoes,  with 
unfailing  regularity,  finishing  off  at  most  hotels 
with  semolina  pudding,  a  concoction  intended  for, 
and  appealing  solely  to,  the  taste  of  the  tooth 
less  infant,  who,  having  just  graduated  from  rub 
ber  rings,  has  not  a  jaded  palate. 

How  the  long  breakfast  bill  at  an  up-to-date 
Belfast  hostelry  awed  us,  after  weeks  of  bacon 
and  eggs !  The  viands  on  the  menu  swam  to 
gether  before  our  dazed  eyes. 


1 86         Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

Porridge 
Fillets  of  Plaice 
Whiting 
Fried  Sole 
Savoury  Omelet 
Kidneys  and  Bacon 
Cold  Meats 

I  looked  at  this  array  like  one  in  a  dream,  realiz 
ing  that  I  had  lost  the  power  of  selection,  and  re 
membering  the  scientific  fact  that  unused  facul 
ties  perish  for  want  of  exercise.  The  man  who 
was  serving  us  rattled  his  tray,  shifted  his  weight 
wearily  from  one  foot  to  the  other  and  cleared 
his  throat  suggestively  ;  until  at  last  I  said  has 
tily,  "  Bacon  and  eggs,  please,"  and  Salemina,  the 
most  critical  person  in  the  party,  murmured,  "The 
same." 

It  is  odd  to  see  how  soon,  if  one  has  a  strong 
sense  of  humanity,  one  feels  at  home  in  a  for 
eign  country.  I,  at  least,  am  never  impressed 
by  the  differences,  but  only  by  the  similarities, 
between  English-speaking  peoples.  We  take 
part  in  the  life  about  us  here,  living  each  experi 
ence  as  fully  as  we  can,  whether  it  be  a  "  hiring 
fair  "  in  Donegal  or  a  pilgrimage  to  the  Boon 
"Well  of  Healing."  Not  the  least  part  of  the 
pleasure  is  to  watch  its  effect  upon  the  Derelict. 
Where,  or  in  what  way,  could  three  persons  hope 
to  gain  as  much  return  from  a  monthly  expenditure 
of  twenty  dollars,  added  to  her  living  and  travel 
ing  expenses,  as  we  have  had  in  Miss  Benella 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences          187 

1 — 

Dusenberry  ?  We  sometimes  ask  ourselves  what 
we  found  to  do  with  our  time  before  she  came 
into  the  family,  and  yet  she  is  as  busy  as  possi 
ble  herself. 

Having  twice  singed  Francesca's  beautiful 
locks,  she  no  longer  attempts  hair  -  dressing ; 
while  she  never  accomplishes  the  lacing  of  an 
evening  dress  without  putting  her  knee  in  the 
centre  of  your  back  once,  at  least,  during  the 
operation.  She  can  button  shoes,  and  she  can 
mend  and  patch  and  darn  to  perfection ;  she  has 
a  frenzy  for  small  laundry  operations,  and,  after 
washing  the  windows  of  her  room,  she  adorns 
every  pane  of  glass  with  a  fine  cambric  handker 
chief,  and,  stretching  a  line  between  the  bedpost 
and  the  bureau  knob,  she  hangs  out  her  white 
neckties  and  her  bonnet  strings  to  dry.  She  has 
learned  to  pack  reasonably  well,  too.  But  if  she 
has  another  passion  beside  those  of  washing  and 
mending,  it  is  for  making  bags.  She  buys  scraps 
of  gingham  and  print,  and  makes  cases  of  every 
possible  size  and  for  every  possible  purpose  ;  so 
that  all  our  personal  property,  roughly  speaking, 
—  hairbrushes,  shoes,  writing  materials,  pincush 
ions,  photographs,  underclothing,  gloves,  medi 
cines,  —  is  bagged.  The  strings  in  the  bags  pull 
both  ways,  and  nothing  is  commoner  than  to  see 
Benella  open  and  close  seventeen  or  eighteen  of 
them  when  she  is  searching  for  Francesca's  rub 
bers  or  my  gold  thimble.  But  what  other  lady's 


1 88         Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

maid  or  traveling  companion  ever  had  half  the 
Derelict's  unique  charm  and  interest,  half  her 
conversational  power,  her  unusual  and  original  de 
fects  and  virtues  ?  Put  her  in  a  third-class  car 
riage  when  we  go  "  first,"  and  she  makes  friends 
with  all  her  fellow  travelers,  discussing  Home 
Rule  or  Free  Silver  with  the  utmost  prejudice 
and  vehemence,  and  freeing  her  mind  on  any 
point,  to  the  delight  of  the  natives.  Occasion 
ally,  when  borne  along  by  the  joy  of  argument, 
she  forgets  to  change  at  the  point  of  junction, 
and  has  to  be  found ^and  dragged  out  of  the  rail 
way  carriage  ;  occasionally,  too,  she  is  left  be 
hind  when  taking  a  cheerful  cup  of  tea  at  a  way 
station,  but  this  is  comparatively  seldom.  Her 
stories  of  life  below  stairs  in  the  various  inns  and 
hotels,  her  altercations  with  housemaid  or  boots 
or  landlady  in  our  behalf,  all  add  a  zest  to  the 
day's  doings. 

Benella's  father  was  an  itinerant  preacher,  her 
mother  the  daughter  of  a  Vermont  farmer  ;  and 
although  she  was  left  an  orphan  at  ten  years,  ed 
ucating  and  supporting  herself  as  best  she  could 
after  that,  she  is  as  truly  a  combination  of  both 
parents  as  her  name  is  a  union  of  their  two 
names. 

"  I  'm  so  'fraid  I  shan't  run  across  any  of  grand 
mother's  folks  over  here,  after  all,"  she  said  yes 
terday,  "  though  I  ask  every  nice-appearin'  per 
son  I  meet  anywheres  if  he  or  she  's  any  kin  to 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences         189 

Mary  Boyce  of  Trim  ;  and  then,  again,  I  'm  scared 
to  death  for  fear  I  shall  find  I  'm  own  cousin  to 
one  of  these  here  critters  that  ain't  brushed  their 
hair  nor  washed  their  apurns  for  a  month  o'  Sun 
days  !  I  declare,  it  keeps  me  real  nerved  up.  ... 
I  think  it 's  partly  the  climate  that  makes  'em  so 
slack,"  she  philosophized,  pinning  a  new  bag  on 
her  knee,  and  preparing  to  backstitch  the  seam. 
•"  There  's  nothin'  like  a  Massachusetts  winter  for 
puttin'  the  git-up-an'-git  into  you.  Land  !  you  've 
got  to  move  round  smart,  or  you  'd  freeze  in  your 
tracks.  These  warm,  moist'  places  always  makes 
folks  lazy  ;  and  when  they  're  hot  enough,  if  you 
take  notice,  it  makes  heathen  of  'em.  It  always 
seems  so  queer  to  me  that  real  hot  weather  and 
the  Christian  religion  don't  seem  to  git  along  to 
gether.  P'r'aps  it 's  just  as  well  that  the  idol-wor 
shipers  should  git  used  to  heat  in  this  world,  for 
they  '11  have  it  consid'able  hot  in  the  next  one,  I 
guess  !  And  see  here,  Mrs.  Beresford,  will  you 
get  me  ten  cents'  —  I  mean  sixpence  worth  o' 
red  gingham  to  make  Miss  Monroe  a  bag  for 
Mr.  Macdonald's  letters  ?  They  go  sprawlin'  all 
over  her  trunk ;  and  there  's  so  many  of  'em,  I 
wish  to  the  land  she  'd  send  'em  to  the  bank 
while  she  's  travelin' !" 


XX 

WE    EVICT   A   TENANT 

"  Soon  as  you  lift  the  latch,  little  ones  are  meeting  you, 
Soon  as  you  're  'neath  the  thatch,  kindly  looks  are  greeting  you  ; 
Scarcely  have  you  time  to  be  holding  out  the  fist  to  them  — 
Down  by  the  fireside  you  're  sitting  in  the  midst  of  them." 

Francis  Fahy. 

ROOTHYTHANTHRUM  COTTAGE, 

KNOCKCOOL,  County  Tyrone. 

OF  course,  we  have  always  intended  sooner  or 
later  to  forsake  this  life  of  hotels  and  lodgings, 
and  become  either  Irish  landlords  or  tenants,  or 
both,  with  a  view  to  the  better  understanding  of 
one  burning  Irish  question.  We  heard  of  a 
charming  house  in  County  Down,  which  could 
be  secured  by  renting  it  the  first  of  May  for  the 
season  ;  but  as  we  could  occupy  it  only  for  a 
month  at  most,  we  were  obliged  to  forego  the 
opportunity. 

"  We  have  been  told  from  time  immemorial 
that  absenteeism  has  been  one  of  the  curses  of 
Ireland,"  I  remarked  to  Salemina  :  "  so,  whatever 
the  charms  of  the  cottage  in  Rostrevor,  do  not 
let  us  take  it,  and  in  so  doing  become  absentee 
landlords." 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences         191 

"  It  was  you  two  who  hired  the  '  wee  theekit 
hoosie '  in  Pettybaw,"  said  Francesca.  "  I  am 
going  to  be  in  the  vanguard  of  the  next  house 
hunting  expedition ;  in  fact,  I  have  almost  made 
up  my  mind  to  take  my  third  of  Benella  and  be 
an  independent  householder  for  a  time.  If  I  am 
ever  to  learn  the  management  of  an  establish 
ment  before  beginning  to  experiment  on  Ronald's, 
now  is  the  proper  moment." 

"  Ronald  must  have  looked  the  future  in  the 
face  when  he  asked  you  to  marry  him,"  I  replied, 
"  although  it  is  possible  that  he  looked  only  at 
you,  and  therefore  it  is  his  duty  to  endure  your 
maiden  incapacities  ;  but  why  should  Salemina 
and  I  suffer  you  to  experiment  upon  us,  pray  ? " 

It  was  Benella,  after  all,  who  inveigled  us  into 
making  our  first  political  misstep ;  for,  after 
avoiding  the  sin  of  absenteeism,  we  fell  into  one 
almost  as  black,  inasmuch  as  we  evicted  a  tenant. 
It  is  part  of  Benella's  heterogeneous  and  unusual 
duty  to  take  a  bicycle  and  scour  the  country  in 
search  of  information  for  us  :  to  find  out  where 
shops  are,  post  office,  lodgings,  places  for  good 
sketches,  ruins,  pretty  roads  for  walks  and  drives, 
and  many  other  things,  too  numerous  to  mention. 
She  came  home  from  one  of  these  expeditions 
flushed  with  triumph. 

"  I  've  got  you  a  house  !  "  she  exclaimed  proudly. 
"  There  's  a  lady  in  it  now,  but  she  '11  move  out 
to-morrow  when  we  move  in ;  and  we  are  to  pay 


192         Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

seventeen  dollars  fifty —  I  mean  three  pound  ten 
—  a  week  for  the  house,  with  privilege  of  renewal, 
and  she  throws  in  the  hired  girl."  (Benella  is 
hopelessly  provincial  in  the  matter  of  language  ; 
butler,  chef,  boots,  footman,  scullery  maid,  all 
come  under  the  generic  term  of  "  help.") 

"  I  knew  our  week  at  this  hotel  was  out  to 
morrow,"  she  continued,  "  and  we  Ve  about  used 
up  this  place,  anyway,  and  the  new  village  that 
I  've  b'en  to  is  the  prettiest  place  we  Ve  seen 
yet ;  it 's  got  an  up-and-down  hill  to  it,  just  like 
home,  and  the  house  I  've  partly  rented  is  oppo 
site  a  Fair  green,  where  there  's  a  market  every 
week,  and  Wednesday  's  the  day ;  and  we  '11  save 
money,  for  I  shan't  cost  you  so  much  when  we 
can  housekeep." 

"  Would  you  mind  explaining  a  little  more  in 
detail,"  asked  Salemina  quietly,  "  and  telling  me 
whether  you  have  hired  the  house  for  yourself  or 
for  us  ? " 

"For  us  all,"  she  replied  genially,  —  "you 
don't  suppose  I  'd  leave  you  ?  I  liked  the  looks 
of  this  cottage  the  first  time  I  passed  it,  and  I  got 
acquainted  with  the  hired  girl  by  going  in  the 
side  yard  and  asking  for  a  drink.  The  next  time 
I  went  I  got  acquainted  with  the  lady,  who  's  got 
the  most  outlandish  name  that  ever  was  wrote 
down,  and  here  it  is  on  a  paper ;  and  to-day  I 
asked  her  if  she  did  n't  want  to  rent  her  house 
for  a  week  to  three  quiet  ladies  without  children 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences         193 

and  only  one  of  them  married  and  him  away. 
She  said  it  wa'n't  her  own  house,  and  1  asked  her 
if  she  could  n't  sublet  to  desirable  parties,  —  I 
knew  she  was  as  poor  as  Job's  turkey  by  her 
looks  ;  and  she  said  it  would  suit  her  well  enough, 
if  she  had  any  place  to  go.  I  asked  her  if  she 
would  n't  like  to  travel,  and  she  said  no.  Then  I 
says,  '  Would  n't  you  like  to  go  to  visit  some  of 
your  folks  ?•'  And  she  said  she  s'posed  she  could 
stop  a  week  with  her  son's  wife,  just  to  oblige  us. 
So  I  engaged  a  car  to  drive  you  down  this  after 
noon  just  to  look  at  the  place  ;  and  if  you  like  it 
we  can  easy  move  over  to-morrow.  The  sun  's  so 
hot  I  asked  the  stableman  if  he  had  n't  got  a  top 
buggy,  or  a  surrey,  or  a  carryall ;  but  he  never 
heard  tell  of  any  of  'em  ;  he  did  n't  even  know  a 
shay.  I  forgot  to  tell  you  the  lady  is  a  Protestant, 
and  the  hired  girl's  name  is  Bridget  Thunder,  and 
she 's  a  Roman  Catholic,  but  she  seems  extra 
smart  and  neat.  I  was  kind  of  in  hopes  she 
would  n't  be,  for  I  thought  I  should  enjoy  trainin' 
her,  and  doin'  that  much  for  the  country." 

And  so  we  drove  over  to  this  village  of  Knock- 
cool  (Knockcool,  by  the  way,  means  "  Hill  of 
Sleep  "),  as  much  to  make  amends  for  Benella's 
eccentricities  as  with  any  idea  of  falling  in  with 
her  proposal.  The  house  proved  everything  she 
said,  and  in  Mrs.  Wogan  Odevaine  Benella  had 
found  a  person  every  whit  as  remarkable  as  her 
self.  She  is  evidently  an  Irish  gentlewoman  of 


194         Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

very  small  means,  very  flexible  in  her  views  and 
convictions,  very  talkative  and  amusing,  and 
very  much  impressed  with  Benella  as  a  product 
of  New  England  institutions.  We  all  took  a  fancy 
to  one  another  at  first  sight,  and  we  heard  with 
real  pleasure  that  her  son's  wife  lived  only  a  few 
miles  away.  We  insisted  on  paying  the  evicted 
lady  the  three  pounds  ten  in  advance  for  the  first 
week.  She  seemed  surprised,  and  we  remembered 
that  Irish  tenants,  though  often  capable  of  shed 
ding  blood  for  a  good  landlord,  are  generally 
averse  to  paying  him  rent.  Mrs.  Wogan  Odevaine 
then  drove  away  in  high  good  humor,  taking  some 
personal  belongings  with  her,  and  promising  to 
drink  tea  with  us  some  time  during  the  week. 
She  kissed  Francesca  good-by,  told  her  she  was 
the  prettiest  creature  she  had  ever  seen,  and 
asked  if  she  might  have  a  peep  at  all  her  hats 
and  frocks  when  she  came  to  visit  us. 

Salemina  says  that  Rhododendron  Cottage 
(pronounced  by  Bridget  Thunder  "  Roothythan- 
thrum  ")  being  the  property  of  one  landlord  and 
the  residence  of  four  tenants  at  the  same  time 
makes  us  in  a  sense  participators  in  the  old  sys 
tem  of  rundale  tenure,  long  since  abolished. 
The  good  will  or  tenant  right  was  infinitely  sub 
divided,  and  the  tiniest  holdings  sometimes  ex 
isted  in  thirty-two  pieces.  The  result  of  this  joint 
tenure  was  an  extraordinary  tangle,  particularly 
when  it  went  so  far  as  the  subdivision  of  "one 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences         195 

cow's  grass,"  or  even  of  a  horse,  which,  being 
owned  jointly  by  three  men,  ultimately  went  lame, 
because  none  of  them  would  pay  for  shoeing  the 
fourth  foot. 

We  have  been  here  five  days,  and  instead  of 
reproving  Benella,  as  we  intended,  for  gross  as 
sumption  of  authority  in  the  matter,  we  are  more 
than  ever  her  bond  slaves.  The  place  is  alto 
gether  charming,  and  here  it  is  for  you. 

Knockcool  Street  is  Knockcool  village  itself, 
as  with  almost  all  Irish  towns ;  but  the  line  of 
little  thatched  cabins  is  brightened  at  the  far  end 
by  the  neat  house  of  Mrs.  Wogan  Odevaine,  set 
a  trifle  back  in  its  own  garden,  by  the  pillared 
porch  of  a  modest  hotel,  and  by  the  barracks  of 
the  Royal  Irish  Constabulary.  The  sign  of  the 
Provincial  Bank  of  Ireland  almost  faces  our  win 
dows  ;  and  although  it  is  used  as  a  meal  shop  the 
rest  of  the  week,  they  tell  us  that  two  thousand 
pounds  in  money  is  needed  there  on  Fair  days. 
Next  to  it  is  a  little  house,  the  upper  part  of 
which  is  used  as  a  Methodist  chapel  ;  and  old 
Nancy,  the  caretaker,  is  already  a  good  friend  of 
ours.  It  is  a  humble  house  of  prayer,  but  Nancy 
takes  much  pride  in  it,  and  showed  us  the  melo- 
deon,  "worked  by  a  young  lady  from  Rossan- 
tach,"  the  Sunday-school  rooms,  and  even  the 
cupboard  where  she  keeps  the  jugs  for  the  love 
feast  and  the  linen  and  wine  for  the  sacrament, 
which  is  administered  once  in  three  years.  Next 


196         Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

comes  the  Hoeys'  cabin,  where  we  have  always  a 
cordial  welcome,  but  where  we  never  go  all  to 
gether,  for  fear  of  embarrassing  the  family,  which 
is  a  large  one, — three  generations  under  one 
roof,  and  plenty  of  children  in  the  last.  Old  Mrs. 
Hoey  does  not  rightly  know  her  age,  she  says ; 
but  her  daughter  Ellen  was  born  the  year  of  the 
Big  Wind,  and  she  herself  was  twenty-two  when 
she  was  married,  and  you  might  allow  a  year  be 
tween  that  and  when  Ellen  was  born,  and  make 
your  own  calculation. 

She  tells  many  stories  of  the  Big  Wind,  which 
we  learn  was  in  1839,  making  Ellen's  age  about 
sixty-one  and  her  mother's  eighty-four.  The  fury 
of  the  storm  was  such  that  it  forced  the  water  of 
the  Lough  far  ashore,  stranding  the  fish  among 
the  rocks,  where  they  were  found  dead  by  hun 
dreds.  When  next  morning  dawned  there  was 
confusion  and  ruin  on  every  side  :  the  cross  had 
tumbled  from  the  chapel,  the  tombstones  were 
overturned  in  the  graveyard,  trees  and  branches 
blocked  the  roadways,  cabins  were  stripped  of 
their  thatches,  and  cattle  found  dead  in  the  fields  ; 
so  it  is  small  wonder  old  Mrs.  Hoey  remembers 
the  day  of  Ellen's  birth,  weak  as  she  is  on  all 
other  dates. 

Ellen's  husband,  Miles  M'Gillan,  is  the  car 
penter  on  an  estate  in  the  neighborhood.  His 
shop  opens  out  of  the  cabin,  and  I  love  to  sit  by 
the  Hoey  fireside,  where  the  fan  bellows,  turned 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences         197 

by  a  crank,  brings  in  an  instant  a  fresh  flame  to 
the  sods  of  smouldering  turf,  and  watch  a  wee 
Colleen  Bawn  playing  among  her  daddy's  shav 
ings,  tying  them  about  her  waist  and  fat  wrists, 
hanging  them  on  her  ears  and  in  among  her  brown 
curls.  Mother  Hoey  says  that  I  do  not  speak 
like  an  American,  —  that  I  have  not  so  many 
"  caperin's  "  in  my  language,  whatever  they  may 
be ;  and  so  we  have  long  delightful  chats  together 
when  I  go  in  for  a  taste  of  Ellen's  griddle  bread, 
cooked  over  the  peat  coals.  Francesca,  mean 
time,  is  calling  on  Mrs.  O'Rourke,  whose  son  has 
taken  more  than  fifty  bicycle  prizes ;  and  no 
stranger  can  come  to  Knockcool  without  inspect 
ing  the  brave  show  of  silver,  medals,  and  china 
that  adorn  the  bedroom,  and  make  the  O'Rourkes 
the  proudest  couple  in  ould  Donegal.  Phelim 
O'Rourke  smokes  his  dudeen  on  a  bench  by  the 
door,  and  invites  the  passer-by  to  enter  and  ex 
amine  the  trophies.  His  trousers  are  held  up  with 
bits  of  rope  arranged  as  suspenders  ;  indeed,  his 
toilet  is  so  much  a  matter  of  strings  that  it  must 
be  a  work  of  time  to  tie  on  his  clothing  in  the 
morning,  in  case  he  takes  it  off  at  night,  which  is 
open  to  doubt  •  nevertheless  it  is  he  that 's  the 
satisfied  man,  and  the  luck  would  be  on  him  as 
well  as  on  e'er  a  man  alive,  were  he  not  kilt  wid 
the  cough  intirely  !  Mrs.  Phelim's  skirt  shows  a 
triangle  of  red  flannel  behind,  where  the  two  ends 
of  the  waistband  fail  to  meet  by  about  six  inches, 


198         Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

but  are  held  together  by  a  piece  of  white  ball 
fringe.  Any  informality  in  this  part  of  her  cos 
tume  is,  however,  more  than  atoned  for  by  the 
presence  of  a  dingy  bonnet  of  magenta  velvet, 
which  she  always  dons  for  visitors. 

The  O'Rourke  family  is  the  essence  of  hospital 
ity,  so  their  kitchen  is  generally  full  of  children 
and  visitors  ;  and  on  the  occasion  when  Salemina 
issued  from  the  prize  bedroom,  the  guests  were 
so  busy  with  conversation  that,  to  use  their  own 
language,  divil  a  wan  of  thim  clapt  eyes  on  the 
O'Rourke  puppy,  and  they  did  not  notice  that 
the  baste  was  floundering  in  a  tub  of  soft,  newly 
made  butter  standing  on  the  floor.  He  was  in 
deed  desperately  involved,  being  so  completely 
wound  up  in  the  waxy  mass  that  he  could  not 
climb  over  the  tub's  edge.  He  looked  comical 
and  miserable  enough  in  his  plight :  the  children 
and  the  visitors  thought  so,  and  so  did  Francesca 
and  I ;  but  Salemina  went  directly  home,  and 
kept  her  room  for  an  hour.  She  is  so  sensitive ! 
Och,  thin,  it  's  herself  that 's  the  marthyr  in- 
tirely  !  We  cannot  see  that  the  incident  affects 
us  so  long  as  we  avoid  the  O'Rourkes'  butter ; 
but  she  says,  covering  her  eyes  with  her  hand 
kerchief  and  shuddering :  "  Suppose  there  are 
other  tubs  and  other  pup —  Oh,  I  cannot  bear 
the  thought  of  it,  dears  !  Please  change  the 
subject,  and  order  me  two  hard-boiled  eggs  for 
dinner." 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences         199 

Leaving  Knockcool  behind  us,  we  walk  along 
the  country  road  between  high,  thick  hedges : 
here  a  clump  of  weather-beaten  trees,  there  a 
stretch  of  bog  with  silver  pools  and  piles  of  black 
turf,  then  a  sudden  view  of  hazy  hills,  a  grove  of 
beeches,  a  great  house  with  a  splendid  gateway, 
and  sometimes,  riding  through  it,  a  figure  new  to 
our  eyes,  a  Lady  Master  of  the  Hounds,  hand 
some  in  her  habit  with  red  facings.  We  pass 
many  an  "  evicted  farm,"  the  ruined  house  with 
the  rushes  growing  all  about  it,  and  a  lonely  goat 
browsing  near ;  and  on  we  walk,  until  we  can  see 
the  roofs  of  Lisdara's  solitary  cabin  row,  huddled 
under  the  shadow  of  a  gloomy  hill  topped  by  the 
ruin  of  an  old  fort.  All  is  silent,  and  the  blue 
haze  of  the  peat  smoke  curls  up  from  the  thatch. 
Lisdara's  young  people  have  mostly  gone  to  the 
Big  Country ;  and  how  many  tears  have  dropped 
on  the  path  we  are  treading,  as  Peggy  and  Mary, 
Cormac  and  Miles,  with  a  wooden  box  in  the 
donkey  cart  behind  them,  or  perhaps  with  only 
a  bundle  hanging  from  a  blackthorn  stick,  have 
come  down  the  hill  to  seek  their  fortune.  Per 
haps  Peggy  is  barefooted ;  perhaps  Mary  has 
little  luggage  beyond  a  pot  of  shamrock  or  a 
mountain  thrush  in  a  wicker  cage ;  but  what 
matter  for  that  ?  They  are  used  to  poverty  and 
hardship  and  hunger,  and  although  they  are  go 
ing  quite  penniless  to  a  new  country,  sure  it  can 
be  no  worse  than  the  old.  This  is  the  happy-go- 


2OO         Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

lucky  Irish  philosophy,  and  there  is  mixed  with  it 
a  deal  of  simple  trust  in  God. 

How  many  exiles  and  wanderers,  both  those 
who  have  no  fortune  and  those  who  have  failed 
to  win  it,  dream  of  these  cabin  rows,  these  sweet- 
scented  boreens  with  their  "banks  of  furze  un- 
profitably  gay,"  these  leaking  thatches  with  the 
purple  loosestrife  growing  in  their  ragged  seams, 
and,  looking  backward  across  the  distance  of  time 
and  space,  give  the  humble  spot  a  tender  thought, 
because  after  all  it  was  in  their  dear  native  isle  ! 

"  Pearly  are  the  skies  in  the  country  of  my  fathers, 
Purple  are  thy  mountains,  home  of  my  heart ; 
Mother  of  my  yearning,  love  of  all  my  longings, 
Keep  me  in  remembrance  long  leagues  apart." 

I  have  been  thinking  in  this  strain  because  of 
an  old  dame  in  the  first  cabin  in  Lisdara  row, 
whose  daughter  is  in  America,  and  who  can  talk 
of  nothing  else.  She  shows  us  the  last  letter, 
with  its  postal  order  for  sixteen  shillings,  that 
Mida  sent  from  New  York,  with  little  presents 
for  blind  Timsy,  "  dark  since  he  were  three  year 
old,"  and  for  lame  Dan,  or  the  "  Bocca,"  as  he  is 
called  in  Lisdara.  Mida  was  named  for  the  vir 
gin  saint  of  Killeedy  in  Limerick.1  "  And  it 's 
she  that 's  good  enough  to  bear  a  saint's  name, 
glory  be  to  God  !  "  exclaims  the  old  mother,  re 
turning  Mida's  photograph  to  a  hole  in  the  wall 
where  the  pig  cannot  possibly  molest  it. 

1  Saint  Mide,  the  Brigit  of  Munster. 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences         20 1 

At  the  far  end  of  the  row  lives  "  Omadhaun 
Pat."  He  is  a  "  little  sthrange,"  you  understand ; 
not  because  he  was  born  with  too  small  a  share 
of  wit,  but  because  he  fell  asleep  one  evening 
when  he  was  lying  on  the  grass  up  by  the  old 
fort,  and  —  "  well,  he  was  niver  the  same  thing 
since."  There  are  places  in  Ireland,  you  must 
know,  where  if  you  lie  down  upon  the  green  earth 
and  sink  into  untimely  slumber,  you  will  "wake 
silly;"  or,  for  that  matter,  although  it  is  doubt 
less  a  risk,  you  may  escape  the  fate  of  waking 
silly,  and  wake  a  poet !  Carolan  fell  asleep  upon 
a  faery  rath,  and  it  was  the  faeries  who  filled 
his  ears  with  music,  so  that  he  was  haunted 
by  the  tunes  ever  afterward  ;  and  perhaps  all 
poets,  whether  they  are  conscious  of  it  or  not, 
fall  asleep  on  faery  raths  before  they  write  sweet 
songs. 

Little  Omadhaun  Pat  is  pale,  hollow-eyed,  and 
thin ;  but  that,  his  mother  says,  is  "because  he  is 
over-studyin'  for  his  confirmation."  The  great 
day  is  many  weeks  away,  but  to  me  it  seems  likely 
that,  when  the  examination  comes,  Pat  will  be 
where  he  will  know  more  than  the  priests ! 

Next  door  lives  old  Biddy  Tuke.  She  is  too 
aged  to  work,  and  she  sits  in  her  doorway,  always 
a  pleasant  figure  in  her  short  woolen  petticoat, 
her  little  shawl,  and  her  neat  white  cap.  She  has 
pitaties  for  food,  with  stirabout  of  Indian  meal 
once  a  day  (oatmeal  is  too  dear),  tea  occasionally 


2O2         Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

when  there  is  sixpence  left  from  the  rent,  and  she 
has  more  than  once  tasted  bacon  in  her  eighty 
years  of  life ;  more  than  once,  she  tells  me 
proudly,  for  it 's  she  that 's  had  the  good  sons  to 
help  her  a  bit  now  and  then,  — four  to  carry  her 
and  one  to  walk  after,  which  is  the  Irish  notion 
of  an  ideal  family. 

"  It 's  no  chuckens  I  do  be  havin'  now,  ma'am," 
she  says,  "  but  it 's  a  darlin'  flock  I  had  ten  year 
ago,  whin  Dinnis  was  harvestin'  in  Scotland  ! 
Sure  it  was  two-and-twinty  chuckens  I  had  on  the 
floore  wid  meself  that  year,  ma'am." 

"  Oh,  it 's  a  conthrary  world,  that 's  a  mortial 
fact !  "  as  Phelim  O'Rourke  is  wont  to  say  when 
his  cough  is  bad ;  and  for  my  life  I  can  frame  no 
better  wish  for  ould  Biddy  Tuke  and  Omadhaun 
Pat,  dark  Timsy  and  the  Bocca,  than  that  they 
might  wake,  one  of  these  summer  mornings,  in 
the  harvest  field  of  the  seventh  heaven.  That 
place  is  reserved  for  the  saints,  and  surely  these 
unfortunates,  acquainted  with  grief  like  Another, 
might  without  difficulty  find  entrance  there. 

I  am  not  wise  enough  to  say  how  much  of  all 
this  squalor  and  wretchedness  and  hunger  is  the 
fault  of  the  people  themselves,  how  much  of  it 
belongs  to  circumstances  and  environment,  how 
much  is  the  result  of  past  errors  of  government, 
how  much  is  race,  how  much  is  religion.  I  only 
know  that  children  should  never  be  hungry,  that 
there  are  ignorant  human  creatures  to  be  taught 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences         203 

how  to  live  :  and  if  it  is  a  hard  task,  the  sooner 
it  is  begun  the  better,  both  for  teachers  and 
pupils.  It  is  comparatively  easy  to  form  opin 
ions  and  devise  remedies,  when  one  knows  the 
absolute  truth  of  things ;  but  it  is  so  difficult  to 
find  the  truth  here,  or  at  least  there  are  so  many 
and  such  different  truths  to  weigh  in  the  balance, 
—  the  Protestant  and  the  Roman  Catholic  truth, 
the  landlord's  and  the  tenant's,  the  Nationalist's 
and  the  Unionist's  truth  !  I  am  sadly  befogged, 
and  so,  pushing  the  vexing  questions  all  aside,  I 
take  dark  Timsy,  Bocca  Lynch,  and  Omadhaun 
Pat  up  on  the  green  hillside  near  the  ruined  fort, 
to  tell  them  stories,  and  teach  them  some  of  the 
thousand  things  that  happier,  luckier  children 
know. 

This  is  an  island  of  anomalies ;  the  Irish  pea 
sants  will  puzzle  you,  perplex  you,  disappoint  you 
with  their  inconsistencies,  but  keep  from  liking 
them  if  you  can !  There  are  a  few  cleaner  and 
more  comfortable  homes  in  Lisdara  and  Knock- 
cool  than  when  we  came,  and  Benella  has  been 
invaluable,  although  her  reforms,  as  might  be 
expected,  are  of  an  unusual  character,  and  with 
her  the  wheels  of  progress  never  move  silently, 
as  they  should,  but  always  squeak.  With  the  two 
golden  sovereigns  given  her  to  spend,  •  she  has 
bought  scissors,  knives,  hammers,  boards,  sewing 
materials,  knitting  needles,  and  yarn,  —  every 
thing  to  work  with,  and  nothing  to  eat,  drink,  or 


2O4         Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

wear,  though  Heaven  knows  there  is  little  enough 
of  such  things  in  Lisdara. 

"  The  quicker  you  wear  'em  out,  the  better 
you  '11  suit  me,"  she  says  to  the  awe-stricken  Lis- 
darians.  "  I  'm  a  workin'  woman  myself,  an'  it 's 
my  ladies'  money  I  've  spent  this  time  ;  but  I  '11 
make  out  to  keep  you  in  brooms  and  scrubbin' 
brushes,  if  only  you  '11  use  'em  !  You  must  n't 
take  offense  at  anything  I  say  to  you,  for  I  'm 
part  Irish —  my  grandmother  was  Mary  Boyce  of 
Trim ;  and  if  she  had  n't  come  away  and  settled 
in  Salem,  Massachusetts,  mebbe  I  would  n't  have 
known  a  scrubbin'  brush  by  sight  myself  !  " 


XXI 

LACHRYM^E    HIBERNIC^E 

"What  ails  you,  Sister  Erin,  that  your  face 
Is,  like  your  mountains,  still  bedewed  with  tears  ? 

Forgive  !  forget !  lest  harsher  lips  should  say, 
Like  your  turf  fire,  your  rancour  smoulders  long, 
And  let  Oblivion  strew  Time's  ashes  o'er  your  wrong." 

Alfred  Austin. 

AT  tea  time,  and  again  after  our  simple  din 
ner, —  for  Bridget  Thunder's  repertory  is  not 
large,  and  Benella's  is  quite  unsuited  to  the 
Knockcool  markets, — we  wend  our  way  to  a 
certain  house  that  stands  by  itself  on  the  road 
to  Lisdara.  It  is  only  a  whitewashed  cabin  with 
green  window  trimmings,  but  it  is  a  larger  and 
more  comfortable  one  than  we  commonly  see, 
and  it  is  the  perfection  of  neatness  within  and 
without.  The  stone  wall  that  incloses  it  is 
whitewashed,  too,  and  the  iron  picket  railing  at 
the  top  is  painted  bright  green ;  the  stones  on 
the  posts  are  green,  also,  and  there  is  the  pretti 
est  possible  garden,  with  nicely  cut  borders  of 
box.  In  fine,  if  ever  there  was  a  cheery  place  to 
look  at,  Sarsfield  Cottage  is  that  one ;  and  if 


206         Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

ever  there  was  a  cheerless  gentleman,  it  is  Mr. 
Jordan,  who  dwells  there.  Mrs.  Wogan  Ode- 
vaine  commended  him  to  us  as  the  man  of  all 
others  with  whom  to  discuss  Irish  questions,  if 
we  wanted,  for  once  in  a  way,  to  hear  a  thor 
oughly  disaffected,  outraged,  wrong-headed,  and 
rancorous  view  of  things. 

"  He  is  an  encyclopaedia,  and  he  is  perfectly 
delightful  on  any  topic  in  the  universe  but  the 
wrongs  of  Ireland,"  said  she  ;  "  not  entirely  sane 
and  yet  a  good  father,  and  a  good  neighbor,  and 
a  good  talker.  Faith,  he  can  abuse  the  English 
government  with  any  man  alive  !  He  has  a 
smaller  grudge  against  you  Americans,  perhaps, 
than  against  most  of  the  other  nations,  so  possi 
bly  he  may  elect  to  discuss  something  more  cheer 
ful  than  our  national  grievances  ;  if  he  does,  and 
you  want  a  livelier  topic,  just  mention  —  let  me 
see  —  you  might  speak  of  Wentworth,  who  de 
stroyed  Ireland's  woolen  industry,  though  it  is 
true  he  laid  the  foundation  of  the  linen  trade,  so 
he  wouldn't  do,  though  Mr.  Jordan  is  likely  to 
remember  the  former  point,  and  forget  the  latter. 
Well,  just  breathe  the  words  '  Catholic  Disquali 
fication  '  or  *  Ulster  Confiscation,'  and  you  will 
have  as  pretty  a  burst  of  oratory  as  you  'd  care 
to  hear.  You  remember  that  exasperated  Eng 
lishman  who  asked  in  the  House  why  Irishmen 
were  always  laying  bare  their  grievances  ?  And 
Major  O'Gorman  bawled  across  the  floor,  '  Be 
cause  they  want  them  redressed  ! '  " 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences         207 

Salemina  and  I  went  to  call  on  Mr.  Jordan  the 
very  next  day  after  our  arrival  at  Knockcool. 
Over  the  sitting-room  or  library  door  at  Sarsfield 
Cottage  is  a  coat  of  arms  with  the  motto  of  the 
Jordans,  "  Percussus  surgus  ;  "  and  as  our  friend 
is  descended  from  Richard  Jordan  of  Knock, 
who  died  on  the  scaffold  at  Claremorris  in  the 
memorable  year  1798,  I  find  that  he  is  related  to 
me,  for  one  of  the  De  Exeter  Jordans  married 
Penelope  O'Connor,  daughter  of  the  king  of  Con- 
naught.  He  took  her  to  wife,  too,  when  the  es 
pousal  of  anything  Irish,  names,  language,  ap 
parel,  customs,  or  daughters,  was  high  treason, 
and  meant  instant  confiscation  of  estates.  I 
never  thought  of  mentioning  the  relationship,  for 
obviously  a  family  cannot  hold  grievances  for 
hundreds  of  years  and  bequeath  a  sense  of  hu 
mor  at  the  same  time. 

The  name  Jordan  is  derived,  it  appears,  from 
a  noble  ancestor  who  was  banner-bearer  in  the 
Crusades  and  who  distinguished  himself  in  many 
battles,  but  particularly  in  one  fought  against  the 
Infidels  on  the  banks  of  the  River  Jordan  in  the 
Holy  Land.  In  this  conflict  he  was  felled  to  the 
ground  three  times  during  the  day,  but  owing 
to  his  gigantic  strength,  his  great  valor,  and  the 
number  of  the  Saracens  prostrated  by  his  sword 
he  succeeded  in  escaping  death  and  keeping  the 
banner  of  the  Cross  hoisted  ;  hence  by  way  of 
eminence,  he  was  called  Jordan  ;  and  the  motto 


208         Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

of  this  illustrious  family  ever    since  has  been, 
"Though  I  fall  I  rise." 

Mr.  Jordan's  wife  has  been  long  dead,  but  he 
has  four  sons,  only  one  of  them,  Napper  Tandy, 
living  at  home.  Theobald  Wolfe  Tone  is  prac 
ticing  law  in  Dublin  ;  Hamilton  Rowan  is  a  phy 
sician  in  Cork;  and  Daniel  O'Connell,  com 
monly  called  "  Lib  "  (a  delicate  reference  to  the 
Liberator),  is  still  a  lad  at  Trinity.  It  is  a  great 
pity  that  Mr.  Jordan  could  not  have  had  a  larger 
family,  that  he  might  have  kept  fresh  in  the  na 
tional  heart  the  names  of  a  few  more  patriots ; 
for  his  library  walls,  "  where  Memory  sits  by  the 
altar  she  has  raised  to  Woe,"  are  hung  with 
engravings  and  prints  of  celebrated  insurgents, 
rebels,  agitators,  demagogues,  denunciators,  con 
spirators,  —  pictures  of  anybody,  in  a  word,  who 
ever  struck  a  blow,  right  or  wrong,  well  or  ill 
judged,  for  the  green  isle.  That  gallant  Jacob 
ite,  Patrick  Sarsfield,  Burke,  Grattan,  Flood,  and 
Robert  Emmet  stand  shoulder  to  shoulder  with 
three  Fenian  gentlemen,  named  Allan,  Larkin, 
and  O'Brien,  known  in  ultra-Nationalist  circles 
as  the  "  Manchester  martyrs."  For  some  years 
after  this  trio  was  hanged  in  Salford  jail,  it  ap 
pears  that  the  infant  mind  was  sadly  mixed  in  its 
attempt  to  separate  knowledge  in  the  concrete 
from  the  more  or  less  abstract  information  con 
tained  in  the  Catechism  ;  and  many  a  bishop  was 
shocked,  when  asking  in  the  confirmation  service, 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences         209 

"  Who  are  the  martyrs  ?  "  to  be  told,  "  Allan,  Lar- 
kin,  and  O'Brien,  me  lord  !  " 

Francesca  says  she  longs  to  smuggle  into  Mr. 
Jordan's  library  a  pictdre  of  Tom  Steele,  one  of 
Daniel  O'Connell's  henchmen,  to  whom  he  gave 
the  title  of  Head  Pacificator  of  Ireland.  Many 
amusing  stories  are  told  of  this  official,  of  his 
gaudy  uniform,  his  strut  and  swagger,  and  his 
pompous  language.  At  a  political  meeting  on  one 
occasion,  he  attacked,  it  seems,  one  Peter  Purcell, 
a  Dublin  tradesman  who  had  fallen  out  with  the 
Liberator  on  some  minor  question.  "  Say  no 
more  on  the  subject,  Tom,"  cried  O'Connell,  who 
was  in  the  chair,  "  I  forgive  Peter  from  the  bot 
tom  of  my  heart." 

"  You  may  forgive  him,  liberator  and  saviour 
of  my  country,"  rejoined  Steele,  in  a  characteris 
tic  burst  of  his  amazingly  fervent  rhetoric.  "  Yes, 
you.  in  the  discharge  of  your  ethereal  functions 
as  the  moral  regenerator  of  Ireland,  may  forgive 
him  ;  but,  revered  leader,  I  also  have  functions 
of  my  own  to  perform ;  and  1  tell  you  that,  as 
Head  Pacificator  of  Ireland,  I  can  never  forgive 
the  diabolical  villain  that  dared  to  dispute  your 
august  will." 

The  doughty  Steele,  who  appears  to  have  been 
but  poorly  fitted  by  nature  for  his  office,  was  con 
sidered  at  the  time  to  be  half  a  madman,  but  as 
Sir  James  O'Connell,  Daniel's  candid  brother, 
said,  "  And  who  the  divil  else  would  take  such  a 


2io         Penelope  s  IrisJi  Experiences 

job  ? "  At  any  rate,  when  we  gaze  at  Mr.  Jor 
dan's  gallery,  imagining  the  scene  that  would  en 
sue  were  the  breath  of  life  breathed  into  the 
patriots'  quivering  nostrils,  we  feel  sure  that  the 
Head  Pacificator  would  be  kept  busy. 

Dear  old  white-haired  Mr.  Jordan,  known  in 
select  circles  as  "  Grievance  Jordan,"  sitting  in 
his  library  surrounded  by  his  denunciators,  con 
spirators,  and  martyrs,  with  incendiary  docu 
ments  piled  mountains  high  on  his  desk,  —  what 
a  pathetic  anachronism  he  is  after  all ! 

The  shillelagh  is  hung  on  the  wall  now,  for  the 
most  part,  and  faction-fighting  is  at  an  end ;  but 
in  the  very  last  moments  of  it  there  were  still 
"  ructions "  between  the  Fitzgeralds  and  the 
Moriartys,  and  the  age-old  reason  of  the  quarrel 
was,  according  to  the  Fitzgeralds,  the  betrayal  of 
the  "Cause  of  Ireland."  The  particular  instance 
occurred  in  the  sixteenth  century,  but  no  Fitz 
gerald  could  ever  afterward  meet  any  Moriarty  at 
a  fair  without  crying,  "  Who  dare  tread  on  the 
tail  of  me  coat  ? "  and  inviting  him  to  join  in  the 
dishcussion  with  shticks.  This  practically  is  Mr. 
Jordan's  position  ;  and  if  an  Irishman  desires  to 
live  entirely  in  the  past,  he  can  be  as  unhappy  as 
any  man  alive.  He  is  writing  a  book,  which  Mrs. 
Wogan  Odevaine  insists  is  to  be  called  The 
Groans  of  Ireland ;  but  after  a  glance  at  a  page 
of  memoranda  penciled  in  a  collection  of  Swift's 
Irish  tracts  that  he  lent  to  me  (the  volume  con- 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences         2 1 1 

taining  that  ghastly  piece  of  irony,  The  Modest 
Proposal  for  Preventing  the  Poor  of  Ireland  from 
being  a  Burden  to  their  Parents  and  Country),  I 
have  concluded  that  he  is  editing  a  Catalogue 
of  Irish  Wrongs  Alphabetically  Arranged.  This 
idea  pleased  Mrs.  Wogan  Odevaine  extremely ; 
and  when  she  drove  over  to  tea,  bringing  several 
cheerful  young  people  to  call  upon  us,  she  pro 
posed,  in  the  most  light-hearted  way  in  the  world, 
to  play  what  she  termed  the  Grievance  Game,  an 
intellectual  diversion  which  she  had  invented  on 
the  instant.  She  proposed  it,  apparently,  with 
a  view  of  showing  us  how  small  a  knowledge  of 
Ireland's  ancient  wrongs  is  the  property  of  the 
modern  Irish  girl,  and  how  slight  a  hold  on  her 
memory  and  imagination  have  the  unspeakably 
bitter  days  of  the  long  ago. 

We  were  each  given  pencil  and  paper,  and  two 
or  three  letters  of  the  alphabet,  and  bidden  to 
arrange  the  wrongs  of  Ireland  neatly  under  them, 
as  we  supposed  Mr.  Jordan  to  be  doing  for  the 
instruction  and  the  depression  of  posterity.  The 
result  proved  that  Mrs.  Odevaine  was  a  true 
prophet,  for  the  youngest  members  of  the  coterie 
came  off  badly  enough,  and  read  their  brief  list 
of  grievances  with  much  chagrin  at  their  lack  of 
knowledge  ;  the  only  piece  of  information  they 
possessed  in  common  being  the  inherited  idea 
that  England  never  had  understood  Ireland,  never 
would,  never  could,  never  should,  never  might 
understand  her. 


212         Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

Rosetta  Odevaine  succeeded  in  remembering, 
for  A,  F,  and  H,  Absenteeism,  Flight  of  the  Earls, 
Famine,  and  Hunger;  her  elder  sister,  Eileen, 
fresh  from  college,  was  rather  triumphant  with  O 
and  P,  giving  us  Oppression  of  the  Irish  Tenantry, 
Penal  Laws,  Protestant  Supremacy,  Poyning's 
Law,  Potato  Rot,  and  Plantations.  Their  friend, 
Rhona  Burke,  had  V,  W,  X,  Y,  Z,  and  succeeded 
only  in  finding  Wentworth  and  Woolen  Trade 
Destroyed,  until  Miss  Odevaine  helped  her  with 
Wood's  Halfpence,  about  which  everybody  else 
had  to  be  enlightened  ;  and  there  was  plenty  of 
laughter  when  Francesca  suggested,  for  V,  Vipers 
Expelled  by  St.  Patrick.  Salemina  carried  off 
the  first  prize  ;  but  we  insisted  that  C  and  D 
were  the  easiest  letters;  at  any  rate,  her  list 
showed  great, erudition,  and  would  certainly  have 
pleased  Mr.  Jordan.  C.  Church  Cess,  Catholic 
Disqualification,  Crimes  Act  of  1887,  Confisca 
tions,  Cromwell,  Carrying  Away  of  Lia  Fail 
(Stone  of  Destiny)  from  Tara.  D.  Destruction 
of  Trees  on  Confiscated  Lands,  Discoverers  (of 
flaws  in  Irish  titles),  Debasing  of  the  Coinage  by 
James  I. 

Mrs.  Odevaine  came  next  with  R  and  S.  R. 
Recall  of  Lord  Fitzwilliamsby  Pitt,  Rundale  Land 
Tenure,  Rack-Rents,  Ribbonism.  S.  Schism  Act, 
Supremacy  Act,  Sixth  Act  of  George  I. 

I  followed  with  T  and  U,  having  unearthed 
Tithes  and  the  Test  Act  for  the  first,  and  Under- 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences         213 

takers,  the  Acts  of  Union  and  Uniformity,  for 
the  second ;  while  Francesca,  who  had  been 
given  I,  J,  K,  L,  and  M,  disgraced  herself  by 
failing  on  all  the  letters  but  the  last,  under  which 
she  finally  catalogued  one  particularly  obnoxious 
wrong  in  Middlemen. 

This  ignorance  of  the  past  may  have  its  bright 
side,  after  all,  though,  to  speak  truthfully,  it  did 
show  a  too  scanty  knowledge  of  national  history. 
But  if  one  must  forget,  it  is  as  well  to  begin 
with  the  wrongs  of  far-off  years,  those  "  done  to 
your  ancient  name  or  wreaked  upon  your  race." 


PART   FOURTH 
CONNAUGHT 


PART  FOURTH.  CONNAUGHT. 
XXII 

THE    WEEPING    WEST 

"  Veiled  in  your  mist,  and  diamonded  with  showers." 

Alfred  Austin. 

SHAN  VAN  VOCHT  HOTEL, 
Heart  of  Connemara. 

SHAN  VAN  VOCHT  means  in  English  the  "  Poor 
Little  Old  Woman,"  one  of  the  many  endearing 
names  given  to  Ireland  in  the  Gaelic.  There  is, 
too,  a  well-known  rebel  song  called  by  this  title, 

—  one  which  was  not  only  written   in  Irish   and 
English,  but  which  was  translated  into  French  for 
the  soldiers  at  Brest  who  were  to  invade  Ireland 
under  Hoche. 

We  had  come  from  Knockcool,  Donegal,  to 
Westport,  in  County  Mayo,  and  the  day  was  en 
livened  by  two  purely  Irish  touches,  one  at  the 
beginning  and  one  at  the  end.  We  alighted  at  a 
certain  railway  junction  to  await  our  train,  and 
were  interested  in  a  large  detachment  of  soldiers, 

—  leaving  for  a  long  journey,  we  judged,  by  the 
number  of  railway  carriages  and  the  amount  of 


2i8         Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 


luggage  and  stores.  In  every  crowded  compart 
ment  there  were  two  or  three  men  leaning  out 
over  the  locked  doors  ;  for  the  guard  was  making 
ready  to  start.  All  were  chatting  gayly  with 
their  sweethearts,  wives,  and  daughters,  save  one 
gloomy  fellow  sitting  alone  in  a  corner,  searching 
the  crowd  with  sad  eyes  for  a  wished-for  face  or 
a  last  greeting.  The  bell  rang,  the  engine  stirred  ; 
suddenly  a  pretty,  rosy  girl  flew  breathlessly  down 
the  platform,  pushing  her  way  through  the  groups 
of  on-lookers.  The  man's  eyes  lighted  ;  he  rose 
to  his  feet,  but  the  other  fellows  blocked  the  way ; 
the  door  was  locked,  and  he  had  but  one  precious 
moment.  Still  he  was  equal  to  the  emergency, 
for  he  raised  his  fist  and  with  one  blow  shattered 
the  window,  got  his  kiss,  and  the  train  rumbled 
away,  with  his  victorious  smile  set  in  a  frame  of 
broken  glass  !  I  liked  that  man  better  than  any 
one  I  've  seen  since  Himself  deserted  me  for  his 
Duty !  How  I  hope  the  pretty  girl  will  be  faith 
ful,  and  how  I  hope  that  an  ideal  lover  will  not 
be  shot  in  South  Africa ! 

And  if  he  was  truly  Irish,  so  was  the  porter  at 
a  little  way  station  where  we  stopped  in  the  dark, 
after  being  delayed  interminably  at  Claremorris 
by  some  trifling  accident.  We  were  eight  per 
sons  packed  into  a  second-class  carriage,  and  to 
tally  ignorant  of  our  whereabouts ;  but  the  por 
ter,  opening  the  door  hastily,  shouted,  "  Is  there 
anny  one  there  for  here  ?  "  —  a  question  so  vague 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences         219 

and  illogical  that  none  of  us  said  anything  in  re 
ply,  but  simply  gazed  at  one  another,  and  then 
laughed  as  the  train  went  on. 

We  are  on  a  here-to-day-and-gone-to-morrow 
journey,  determined  to  avoid  the  railways,  and 
travel  by  private  conveyance  and  the  public  "  long 
cars,"  just  for  a  glimpse  of  the  Weeping  West 
before  we  settle  down  quietly  in  County  Meath 
for  our  last  few  weeks  of  Irish  life. 

Thus  far  it  has  been  a  pursuit  of  the  pictur 
esque  under  umbrellas  ;  in  fact,  we  're  desthroyed 
wid  the  dint  of  the  damp  !  "  Moist  and  agreeable, 
—  that 's  the  Irish  notion  both  for  climate  and 
company."  If  the  barometer  bore  any  relation  to 
the  weather,  we  could  plan  our  drives  with  more 
discretion  ;  but  it  sometimes  remains  as  steady  as 
a  rock  during  two  days  of  sea  mist,  and  Francesca, 
finding  it  wholly  regardless  of  gentle  tapping,  lost 
her  temper  on  one  occasion  and  rapped  it  so 
severely  as  to  crack  the  glass.  That  this  pecu 
liarity  of  Irish  barometers  has  been  noted  before 
we  are  sure,  because  of  this  verse  written  by  a 
native  bard  :  — 

"  When  the  glass  is  up  to  thirty, 
Be  sure  the  weather  will  be  dirty. 
When  the  glass  is  high,  O  very  ! 
There  '11  be  rain  in  Cork  and  Kerry. 
When  the  glass  is  low,  O  Lork  ! 
There  '11  be  rain  in  Kerry  and  Cork  !  " 

I  might  add  :  — 

And  when  the  glass  has  climbed  its  best, 
The  sky  is  weeping  in  the  West. 


22O         Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

The  national  rainbow  is  as  deceitful  as  the  ba 
rometer,  and  it  is  no  uncommon  thing  for  us  to 
have  half  a  dozen  of  them  in  a  day,  between 
heavy  showers,  like  the  smiles  and  tears  of  Irish 
character ;  though,  to  be  sure,  one  does  not  need 
to  be  an  Irish  patriot  to  declare  that  a  fine  day 
in  this  country  is  worth  three  fine  days  anywhere 
else.  The  present  weather  is  accounted  for  par 
tially  by  the  fact  that,  as  Horace  Walpole  said, 
summer  has  set  in  with  its  usual  severity,  and 
the  tourist  is  abroad  in  the  land. 

I  am  not  sure  but  that  we  belong  to  the  hated 
class  for  the  moment,  though  at  least  we  try  to 
emulate  tourist  virtues,  if  there  are  any,  and 
avoid  tourist  vices,  which  is  next  to  impossible, 
as  they  are  the  fruit  of  the  tour  itself.  It  is  the 
circular  tour  which,  in  its  effect  upon  the  great 
middle  class,  is  the  most  virulent  and  contagious, 
and  which  breeds  the  most  offensive  habits  of 
thought  and  speech.  The  circular  tour  is  a  mag 
nificent  idea,  a  praiseworthy  business  scheme  ;  it 
has  educated  the  minds  of  millions,  and  why  it 
should  have  ruined  their  manners  is  a  mystery, 
unless  indeed  they  had  none  when  they  were  at 
home.  Some  of  our  fellow  travelers  with  whom 
we  originally  started  disappear  every  day  or  two, 
to  join  us  again.  We  lose  them  temporarily  when 
we  take  a  private  conveyance  or  when  they  stop 
at  a  cheap  hotel,  but  we  come  together  again  on 
or  long  car ;  and  although  they  have  torn 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences         221 

off  many  coupons  in  the  interval,  their  remaining 
stock  seems  to  assure  us  of  their  society  for  days 
to  come. 

We  have  a  Protestant  clergyman  who  is  travel 
ing  for  his  health,  but  beguiling  his  time  by  ob 
servations  for  a  volume  to  be  called  The  Rela 
tion  between  Priests  and  Pauperism.  It  seems,  at 
first  thought,  as  if  the  circular  coupon  system  was 
ill  fitted  to  furnish  him  with  corroborative  detail ; 
but  inasmuch  as  every  traveler  finds  in  a  country 
only,  so  to  speak,  what  he  brings  to  it,  he  will 
gather  statistics  enough.  Those  persons  who 
start  with  a  certain  bias  of  mind  in  one  direc 
tion  seldom  notice  any  facts  that  would  throw  out 
of  joint  those  previously  amassed  ;  they  instinc 
tively  collect  the  ones  that  "  match,"  all  others 
having  a  tendency  to  disturb  the  harmony  of  the 
original  scheme.  The  clergyman's  traveling  com 
panion  is  a  person  who  possesses  not  a  single 
opinion,  conviction,  or  trait  in  common  with  him  ; 
so  we  conclude  that  they  joined  forces  for  eco 
nomy's  sake.  This  comrade  we  call  "  the  man  with 
the  evergreen  heart,"  for  we  can  hardly  tell  by 
his  appearance  whether  he  is  an  old  young  man 
or  a  young  old  one.  With  his  hat  on  he  is  juve 
nile  ;  when  he  removes  it,  he  is  so  distinctly  el 
derly  that  we  do  not  know  whether  to  regard  him 
as  damaged  youth  or  well-preserved  old  age  ;  but 
he  transfers  his  solicitous  attentions  to  lady  after 
lady,  rebuffs  not  having  the  slightest  effect  upon 


222         Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

his  warm,  susceptible,  ardent  nature.  We  sup 
pose  that  he  is  single,  but  we  know  that  he  can 
be  married  at  a  moment's  notice  by  anybody  who 
is  willing  to  accept  the  risks  of  the  situation. 
Then  we  have  a  nice  schoolmaster,  so  agreeable 
that  Salemina,  Francesca,  and  I  draw  lots  every 
evening  as  to  who  shall  sit  beside  him  next  day. 
He  has  just  had  seventy  boys  down  with  measles 
at  the  same  time,  giving  prizes  to  those  who  could 
show  the  best  rash  !  Salemina  is  no  friend  to  the 
competitive  system  in  education,  but  this  appealed 
to  her  as  being  as  wise  as  it  was  whimsical. 

We  have  also  in  our  company  an  indiscreet  and 
inflammable  Irishman  from  Wexford  and  a  cut 
ler  from  Birmingham,  who  lose  no  opportunity  to 
have  a  conversational  scrimmage.  When  the  car 
stops  to  change  or  water  the  horses  (and  as  for 
this  last  operation,  our  steeds  might  always  man 
age  it  without  loss  of  time  by  keeping  their 
mouths  open),  we  generally  hear  something  like 
this ;  for  although  the  two  gentlemen  have  never 
met  before,  they  fight  as  if  they  had  known  each 
other  all  their  lives. 

Mr.  Shamrock.  "  Faith,  then,  if  you  don't  like 
the  hotels  and  the  railroads,  go  to  Paris  or  Lon 
don  ;  we  've  done  widout  you  up  to  now,  and  we 
can  kape  on  doing  widout  you  !  We  'd  have  more 
money  to  spind  in  entertainin'  you  if  the  govern 
ment  had  n't  taken  three  million  of  pounds  out  of 
us  to  build  fortifications  in  China." 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences         223 

Mr.  Rose.  "  That 's  all  bosh  and  nonsense  ; 
you  would  n't  know  how  to  manage  a  hotel  if  you 
had  the  money." 

Mr.  Shamrock.  "  If  we  can't  make  hotel-kap- 
ers,  it 's  soldiers  we  can  make  ;  and  be  the  same 
token  you  can't  manage  India  or  Canada  widout 
our  help !  Faith  England  owes  Ireland  more 
than  she  can  pay,  and  it 's  not  her  business  to  be 
thravelin'  round  criticism'  the  throubles  she 's 
helped  to  projuce." 

Mr.  Rose.  "William  Ewart  Gladstone  did 
enough  for  your  island  to  make  up  for  all  the 
harm  that  the  other  statesmen  may  or  may  not 
have  done." 

Mr.  Shamrock,  touched  in  his  most  vulnerable 
point,  shrieks  above  the  rattle  of  the  wheels : 
"  The  wurrst  statesman  that  iver  put  his  name 
to  paper  was  William  Ewart  Gladstone  ! " 

Mr.  Rose.  "  The  best,  I  say !  " 

Mr.  Shamrock.  "  I  say  the  wurrst !  " 

Mr.  Rose.  "  The  best ! !  " 

Mr.  Shamrock.  "  The  wurrst !  !  " 

Mr.  Rose  (after  a  pause).  "It's  your  absen 
tee  landlords  that  have  done  the  mischief.  I  'd 
hang  every  one  of  them,  if  I  had  my  way." 

Mr.  Shamrock.  "  Faith  they  'd  be  absint  thin, 
sure  enough  !  " 

And  at  this  everybody  laughs,  and  the  trouble 
is  over  for  a  brief  space,  much  to  the  relief  of 
Mrs.  Shamrock,  until  her  husband  finds  himself, 


224         Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

after  a  little,  sufficiently  calm  to  repeat  a  Cockney 
anecdote,  which  is  received  by  Mr.  Rose  in  re 
sentful  silence  ;  it  being  merely  a  description  of 
the  common  bat,  an  unfortunate  animal  that,  ac 
cording  to  Mr.  Shamrock,  "  'as  no  'ole  to  'ide  in, 
no  'ands  to  'old  by,  no  'orns  to  'urt  with,  though 
Nature  'as  given  'im  'ooks  be'ind  to  'itch  'imself 
up  by." 

The  last  two  noteworthy  personages  in  our 
party  are  a  dapper 'Frenchman,  who  is  in  busi 
ness  at  Manchester,  and  a  portly  Londoner,  both 
of  whom  are  seeing  Ireland  for  the  first  time. 
The  Frenchman  does  not  grumble  at  the  wea 
ther,  for  he  says  that  in  Manchester  it  rains 
twice  a  day  all  the  year  round,  save  during  the 
winter,  when  it  commonly  rains  all  day. 

Sir  James  Paget,  in  an  address  on  Recreation, 
defined  its  chief  element  to  be  surprise.  If  that 
is  true,  the  portly  Londoner  must  be  exhilarated 
beyond  words.  But  with  him  the  sensation  does 
not  stop  with  surprise:  it  speedily  becomes  amaze 
ment,  and  then  horror ;  for  he  is  of  the  compara 
tive  type,  and  therefore  sees  things  done  and 
hears  things  said,  on  every  hand,  that  are  not 
said  and  done  at  all  in  the  same  way  in  London. 
He  sees  people  —  ay,  and  policemen  —  bicycling 
on  footpaths  and  riding  without  lamps,  and  is 
horrified  to  learn  that  they  are  seldom,  if  ever, 
prosecuted.  He  is  shocked  at  the  cabins,  and 
the  rocks,  and  the  beggar  children,  and  the  lack 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences         22$ 

of  trees ;  at  the  lack  of  logic,  also,  and  the  lack 
of  shoes  ;  at  the  prevalence  of  the  brogue  ;  above 
all,  at  the  presence  of  the  pig  in  the  parlor.  He 
is  outraged  at  the  weather,  and  he  minds  getting 
wet  the  more  because  he  hates  Irish  whiskey. 
He  keeps  a  little  notebook,  and  he  can  hardly 
wait  for  dinner  to  be  over,  he  is  so  anxious  to 
send  a  communication  (probably  signed  "  Veri- 
tas  ")  to  the  London  Times. 

The  multiplicity  of  rocks  and  the  absence  of 
trees  are  indeed  the  two  most  striking  features  of 
the  landscape  ;  and  yet  Boate  says,  "  In  ancient 
times,  as  long  as  the  land  was  in  full  possession 
of  the  Irish  themselves,  all  Ireland  was  very  full 
of  woods  on  every  side,  as  evidently  appeareth 
by  the  writings  of  Giraldus  Cambrensis."  But 
this  was  long  ago,  — 

"  Ere  the  emerald  gem  of  the  western  world 
Was  set  in  the  brow  of  a  stranger." 

In  the  long  wars  with  the  English  these  forests 
were  the  favorite  refuge  of  the  natives,  and  it 
was  a  common  saying  that  the  Irish  could  never 
be  tamed  while  the  leaves  were  upon  the  trees. 
Then  passages  were  cut  through  the  woods,  and 
the  policy  of  felling  them,  as  a  military  measure, 
was  begun  and  carried  forward  on  a  gigantic 
scale  in  Elizabeth's  reign. 

At  one  of  the  cabins  along  the  road  they  were 
making  great  preparations,  which  we  understood, 
from  having  seen  the  same  thing  in  Lisdara. 


226         Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

There  are  wee  villages  and  solitary  cabins  so  far 
from  chapel  that  the  priests  establish  "  stations  " 
for  confession.  A  certain  house  is  selected,  and 
all  the  old,  infirm,  and  feeble  ones  come  there  to 
confess  and  hear  mass.  The  priest  afterwards 
eats  breakfast  with  the  family ;  and  there  is  great 
pride  in  this  function,  and  great  rivalry  in  the 
humble  arrangements.  Mrs.  Odevaine  often 
lends  a  linen  cloth  and  flowers  to  one  of  her 
neighbors,  she  tells  us ;  to  another  a  knife  and 
fork,  or  a  silver  teapot ;  and  so  on.  This  cabin 
was  at  the  foot  of  a  long  hill,  and  the  driver  gave 
me  permission  to  walk ;  so  Francesca  and  I 
slipped  down,  I  with  a  parcel  which  chanced  to 
have  in  it  some  small  purchases  made  at  the  last 
hotel.  We  asked  if  we  might  help  a  bit,  and  give 
a  little  teapot  of  Belleek  ware  and  a  linen  doily 
trimmed  with  Irish  lace.  Both  the  articles  were 
trumpery  bits  of  souvenirs,  but  the  old  dame  was 
inclined  to  think  that  the  angels  and  saints  had 
taken  her  in  charge,  and  nothing  could  exceed 
her  gratitude.  She  offered  us  a  potato  from  the 
pot,  a  cup  of  tea  or  goat's  milk,  and  a  bunch  of 
wild  flowers  from  a  cracked  cup ;  and  this  last 
we  accepted  as  we  departed  in  a  shower  of  bless 
ings,  the  most  interesting  of  them  being,  "  May 
the  Blessed  Virgin  twine  your  brow  with  roses 
when  ye  sit  in  the  sates  of  glory  ! "  and  "  The 
Lord  be  good  to  ye  and  sind  ye  a  duke  for  a 
husband  !  "  We  felt  more  than  repaid  for  our 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences        227 

impulsive  interest,  and  as  we  disappeared  from 
sight  a  last  "  Bannact  dea  leat !  "  (God's  bless 
ing  be  on  your  way !)  was  wafted  to  our  ears. 

I  seem  to  have  known  all  these  people  before, 
and  indeed  I  have  met  them  between  the  covers 
of  a  book ;  for  Connemara  has  one  prophet,  and 
her  name  is  Jane  Barlow.  In  how  many  of  these 
wild  bog  lands  of  Connaught  have  we  seen  a 
huddle  of  desolate  cabins  on  a  rocky  hillside, 
turf  stacks  looming  darkly  at  the  doors,  and 
empty  black  pots  sitting  on  the  thresholds,  and 
fancied  we  have  found  Lisconnel  !  I  should  re 
cognize  Ody  RafTerty,  the  Widow  McGurk,  Mad 
Bell,  old  Mrs.  Kilfoyle,  or  Stacey  Doyne,  if  I 
met  them  face  to  face,  just  as  I  should  know 
other  real  human  creatures  of  a  higher  type,  — 
Beatrix  Esmond,  Becky  Sharp,  Meg  Merrilies,  or 
Di  Vernon. 


XXIII 

BEAMS    AND    MOTES 

"  Mud  cabins  swarm  in 
This  place  so  charming, 
With  sailor  garments 
Hung  out  to  dry  ; 
And  each  abode  is 
Snug  and  commodious, 
With  pigs  melodious 
In  their  straw-built  sty." 

Father  Prout. 

" '  DID  the  Irish  elves  ever  explain  themselves 
to  you,  Red  Rose  ? ' 

" '  No,  I  can't  say  that  they  did,'  said  the  Eng 
lish  Elf.  *  You  can't  call  it  an  explanation  to 
say  that  a  thing  has  always  been  that  way,  just ; 
or  that  a  thing  would  be  a  heap  more  bother 
any  other  way.'  " 

The  west  of  Ireland  is  depressing,  but  it  is 
very  beautiful ;  at  least  if  your  taste  includes  an 
appreciation  of  what  is  wild,  magnificent,  and 
sombre.  Oppressed  you  must  be,  even  if  you 
are  an  artist,  by  its  bleakness  and  its  dreariness, 
its  lonely  lakes  reflecting  a  dull  gray  sky,  its  de 
solate  bog  lands,  its  solitary  chapels,  its  wretched 
cabins  perched  on  hillsides  that  are  very  wilder- 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences         229 

nesses  of  rocks.  But  for  cloud  effects,  for  won 
derful  shadows,  for  fantastic  and  unbelievable 
sunsets,  when  the  mountains  are  violet,  the  lakes 
silver  with  red  flashes,  the  islets  gold  and  crim 
son  and  purple,  and  the  whole  cloudy  west  in  a 
flame,  it  is  unsurpassed;  only  your  standard  of 
beauty  must  not  be  a  velvet  lawn  studded  with 
copper  beeches,  or  a  primary-hued  landscape 
bathed  in  American  sunshine.  Connemara  is 
austere  and  gloomy  under  a  dull  sky,  but  it  has 
the  poetic  charm  that  belongs  to  all  mystery,  and 
its  bare  cliffs  and  ridges  are  delicately  penciled 
on  a  violet  background,  in  a  way  peculiar  to  it 
self  and  enchantingly  lovely. 

The  waste  of  all  God's  gifts ;  the  incredible 
poverty ;  the  miserable  huts,  often  without  win 
dow  or  chimney ;  the  sad-eyed  women,  some 
times  nothing  but  "  skin,  bones,  and  grief  ; "  the 
wild,  beautiful  children,  springing  up  like  star 
tled  deer  from  behind  piles  of  rocks  or  growths 
of  underbrush ;  the  stony  little  bits  of  earth 
which  the  peasants  cling  to  with  such  passion, 
while  good  grass  lands  lie  unused,  yet  seem  for 
ever  out  of  reach,  —  all  this  makes  one  dream, 
and  wonder,  and  speculate,  and  hope  against 
hope  that  the  worst  is  over  and  a  better  day 
dawning.  We  passed  within  sight  of  a  hill  vil 
lage  without  a  single  road  to  connect  it  with  the 
outer  world.  The  only  supply  of  turf  was  on  the 
mountain  top,  and  from  thence  it  had  to  be 


230         Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

brought,  basket  by  basket,  even  in  the  snow. 
The  only  manure  for  such  land  is  seaweed,  and 
that  must  be  carried  from  the  shore  to  the  tiny 
plats  of  sterile  earth  on  the  hillside.  I  remem 
ber  it  all,  for  I  refused  to  buy  a  pair  of  stockings 
of  a  woman  along  the  road.  We  had  taken  so 
many  that  my  courage  failed  ;  but  I  saw  her 
climbing  the  slopes  patiently,  wearily,  a  shawl 
over  her  white  hair,  —  knitting,  knitting,  knitting, 
as  she  walked  in  the  rain  to  her  cabin  somewhere 
behind  the  high  hills.  We  never  give  to  beggars 
in  any  case,  but  we  buy  whatever  we  can  as  we 
are  able  ;  and  why  did  I  draw  the  line  at  that 
particular  pair  of  stockings,  only  to  be  haunted 
by  that  pathetic  figure  for  the  rest  of  my  life  ? 
Beggars  there  are  by  the  score,  chiefly  in  the 
tourist  districts  ;  but  it  is  only  fair  to  add  that 
there  are  hundreds  of  huts  where  it  would  be  a 
dire  insult  to  offer  a  penny  for  a  glass  of  water,  a 
sup  of  milk,  or  the  shelter  of  a  turf  fire. 

As  we  drive  along  the  road,  we  see,  if  the  um 
brellas  can  be  closed  for  a  half  hour,  flocks  of 
sheep  grazing  on  the  tops  of  the  hills,  where  it  is 
sunnier,  where  food  is  better  and  flies  less  numer 
ous.  Crystal  streams  and  waterfalls  are  pouring 
down  the  hillsides  to  lose  themselves  in  one  of 
Connemara's  many  bays,  and  we  have  a  glimpse 
of  osmunda  fern,  golden  green  and  beautiful.  It 
was  under  a  branch  of  this  Osmunda  regalis  that 
the  Irish  princess  lay  hidden,  they  say,  till  she 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences         231 

had  evaded  her  pursuers.  The  blue  turf  smoke 
rises  here  and  there,  —  now  from  a  cabin  with 
houseleek  growing  on  the  crumbling  thatch,  now 
from  one  whose  roof  is  held  on  by  ropes  and 
stones,  —  and  there  is  always  a  turf  bog,  stacks 
and  stacks  of  the  cut  blocks,  a  woman  in  a  gown 
of  dark  red  flannel  resting  for  a  moment,  with  the 
empty  creel  beside  her,  and  a  man  cutting  in  the 
distance.  After  climbing  the  long  hill  beyond 
the  "  station  "  we  are  rewarded  by  a  glimpse  of 
more  fertile  fields ;  the  clumps  of  ragwort  and 
purple  loosestrife  are  reinforced  with  kingcups 
and  lilies  growing  near  the  wayside,  and  the  rare 
sight,  first  of  a  pot  of  geraniums  in  the  window, 
and  then  of  a  garden  all  aglow  with  red  fuchsias, 
torch  plants,  and  huge  dahlias,  so  cheers  Veritas 
that  he  takes  heart  again.  "This  is  something 
like  home  !  "  he  exclaims  breezily ;  whereupon  Mr. 
Shamrock  murmurs  that  if  people  find  nothing  to 
admire  in  a  foreign  country  save  what  resembles 
their  own,  he  wonders  that  they  take  the  trouble 
to  be  traveling. 

"  It  is  a  darlin'  year  for  the  pitaties,"  the  driver 
says ;  and  there  are  plenty  of  them  planted  here 
abouts,  even  in  stony  spots  not  worth  a  keenogue 
for  anything  else,  for  "  pitaties  does  n't  require 
anny  mthrickQt  farmin',  you  see,  ma'am." 

The  clergyman  remarks  that  only  three  things 
are  required  to  make  Ireland  the  most  attractive 
country  in  the  world,  —  "  Protestantism,  cleanli- 


232  •      Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

ness,  and  gardens ;  "  and  Mr.  Shamrock,  who  is 
of  course  a  Roman  Catholic,  answers  this  tactful 
speech  in  a  way  that  surprises  the  speaker  and 
keeps  him  silent  for  hours. 

The  Birmingham  cutler,  who  has  a  copy  of 
Ismay's  Children  in  his  pocket,  triumphantly 
reads  aloud,  at  this  moment,  a  remark  put  into 
the  mouth  of  an  Irish  character :  "  The  low  Irish 
are  quite  destitute  of  all  notion  of  beauty,  — 
have  not  the  remotest  particle  of  artistic  senti 
ment  or  taste ;  their  cabins  are  exactly  as  they 
were  six  hundred  years  ago,  for  they  never  want 
to  improve  themselves." 

Then  Mr.  Shamrock  asserts  that  any  show  of 
prosperity  on  a  tenant's  part  would  only  mean  an 
advance  of  rent  on  the  landlord's ;  and  Mr.  Rose 
retorts  that  while  that  might  have  been  true  in 
former  times,  it  is  utterly  false  to-day. 

Mrs.  Shamrock,  who  is  a  natural  apologist, 
pleads  that  the  Irish  gentry  have  the  most  beauti 
ful  gardens  in  the  world  and  the  greatest  natural 
taste  in  gardening,  and  there  must  be  some  rea 
son  why  the  lower  classes  are  so  different  in  this 
respect.  May  it  not  be  due  partly  to  lack  of 
ground,  lack  of  money  to  spend  on  seeds  and  fer 
tilizers,  lack  of  all  refining,  civilizing,  and  educat 
ing  influences  ?  Mr.  Shamrock  adds  that  the 
dwellers  in  cabins  cannot  successfully  train  creep 
ers  against  the  walls  or  flowers  in  the  dooryard, 
because  of  the  goat,  pig,  donkey,  ducks,  hens  and 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences         233 

chickens  ;  and  Veritas  asks  triumphantly,  "  Why 
don't  you  keep  the  pig  in  a  sty  then  ? " 

The  man  with  the  evergreen  heart  (who  has 
already  been  told  this  morning  that  I  am  happily 
married,  Francesca  engaged,  Salemina  a  deter 
mined  celibate,  but  Benella  quite  at  liberty)  peeps 
under  Salemina's  umbrella  at  this  juncture,  and 
says  tenderly,  "And  what  do  you  think  about 
these  vexed  questions,  dear  madam  ? "  Which 
gives  her  a  chance  to  reply  with  some  distinct 
ness,  "  I  shall  not  know  what  I  think  for  several 
months  to  come ;  and  at  any  rate,  there  are  va 
rious  things  more  needed  on  this  coach  than 
opinions." 

At  this  the  Frenchman  murmurs,  "Ah,  she 
has  right !  "  and  the  Birmingham  cutler  says, 
"'Ear!  'ear!" 

On  another  day  the  parson  began  to  tell  the 
man  with  the  evergreen  heart  some  interesting 
things  about  America.  He  had  never  been  there 
himself,  but  he  had  a  cousin  who  had  traveled 
extensively  in  that  country,  and  had  brought  back 
much  unusual  information.  "  The  Americans  are 
an  extraordinary  people  on  the  practical  side,"  he 
remarked  ;  "  but  having  said  that,  you  have  said 
all,  for  they  are  sordid  and  absolutely  devoid  of 
ideality.  Take  an  American  at  his  roller-top  desk, 
a  telephone  at  one  side  and  a  typewriter  at  the 
other,  talk  to  him  of  pork  and  dollars,  and  you 
have  him  at  his  very  best.  He  always  keeps  on 


234         Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

his  Panama  hat  at  business,  and  sits  in  a  rocking- 
chair  smoking  a  long  cigar.  The  American  wo 
man  wears  a  blue  dress  with  a  red  lining,  or  a 
black  dress  with  orange  trimmings,  showing  a 
survival  of  African  taste ;  while  another  exhibits 
the  American  Indian  type,  —  sallow,  with  high 
cheek  bones.  /  The  manners  of  the  servant  classes 
are  extraordinary.  I  believe  they  are  called  the 
'help,'  and  they  commonly  sit  in  the  drawing- 
room  after  the  work  is  finished." 

"You  surprise  me  !  "  said  Mrs.  Shamrock. 

"  It  is  indeed  amazing,"  he  continued ;  "  and 
there  are  other  extraordinary  customs,  among 
them  the  habit  of  mixing  ices  with  all  beverages. 
They  plunge  ices  into  mugs  of  ale,  beer,  porter, 
lemonade,  or  Apollinaris,  and  sip  the  mixture 
with  a  long  ladle  at  the  chemist's  counter,  where 
it  is  usually  served." 

"  You  surprise  me  !  "  exclaimed  the  cutler. 

"  You  surprise  me  too  ! "  I  echoed  in  my  in 
most  heart.  Francesca  would  not  have  confined 
herself  to  that  blameless  mode  of  expression,  you 
may  be  sure,  and  I  was  glad  that  she  was  on  the 
back  seat  of  the  car.  I  did  not  know  it  at  the 
time,  but  Veritas,  who  is  a  man  of  intelligence, 
had  identified  her  as  an  American,  and  wishing  to 
inform  himself  on  all  possible  points,  had  asked 
her  frankly  why  it  was  that  the  people  of  her 
nation  gave  him  the  impression  of  never  being 
restful  or  quiet,  but  always  so  excessively  and 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences         235 

abnormally  quick  in  motion  and  speech  and 
thought. 

"  Casual  impressions  are  not  worth  anything," 
she  replied  nonchalantly.  "  As  a  nation,  you 
might  sometimes  give  us  the  impression  of  being 
phlegmatic  and  slow-witted.  Both  ideas  may 
have  some  basis  of  fact,  yet  not  be  absolutely 
true.  We  are  not  all  abnormally  quick  in  America. 
Look  at  our  messenger  boys,  for  example." 

"  We  !  Phlegmatic  and  slow-witted  !  "  ex 
claimed  Veritas.  "  You  surprise  me  !  And  why 
do  you  not  reward  these  government  messengers 
for  speed,  and  stimulate  them  in  that  way  ?  " 

"We  do,"  Francesca  answered;  "that  is  the 
only  way  in  which  we  ever  get  them  to  arrive 
anywhere,  —  by  rewarding  and  stimulating  them 
at  both  ends  of  the  journey,  and  sometimes,  in 
extreme  cases,  at  a  halfway  station." 

"  This  is  most  interesting,"  said  Veritas,  as  he 
took  out  his  damp  notebook  ;  "  and  perhaps  you 
can  tell  me  why  your  newspapers  are  so  poorly 
edited,  so  cheap,  so  sensational  ?  " 

"  I  confess  I  can't  explain  it,"  she  sighed,  as 
if  sorely  puzzled.  "  Can  it  be  that  we  have  ex 
pended  our  strength  on  magazines,  where  you  are 
so  lamentably  weak  ?  " 

At  this  moment  the  rain  began,  as  if  there 
had  been  a  long  drought,  and  the  sky  had  just 
determined  to  make  up  the  deficiency.  It  fell  in 
sheets,  and  the  wind  blew  I  know  not  how  many 


236         Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

Irish  miles  an  hour.  The  Frenchman  put  on  a 
silk  mackintosh  with  a  cape,  and  was  berated  by 
everybody  in  the  same  seat  because  he  stood  up 
a  moment  and  let  the  water  in  under  the  lap 
covers.  His  umbrella  was  a  dainty  en-tout-cas 
with  a  mother-of-pearl  handle,  that  had  answered 
well  enough  in  heavy  mist  or  soft  drizzle.  His 
hat  of  fine  straw  was  tied  with  a  neat  cord  to  his 
buttonhole  ;  but  although  that  precaution  insured 
its  ultimate  safety,  it  did  not  prevent  its  soaring 
from  his  head  and  descending  on  Mrs.  Sham 
rock's  bonnet.  He  conscientiously  tried  holding 
it  on  with  one  hand,  but  was  then  reproved  by 
both  neighbors  because  his  mackintosh  dripped 
over  them. 

"  How  are  your  spirits,  Frenchy  ? "  asked  the 
cutler  jocosely. 

"  I  am  not  too  greatly  sad,"  said  the  poor  gen 
tleman,  "  but  I  will  be  glad  it  should  be  finished  ; 
far  more  joyfully  would  I  be  at  Manchester,  triste 
as  it  may  be." 

Just  then  a  gust  of  wind  blew  his  cape  over  his 
head,  and  snapped  his  parasol. 

"  It  is  evidently  it  has  been  made  in  Ireland," 
he  sighed,  with  a  desperate  attempt  at  gayety. 
"  It  should  have  had  a  grosser  stem,  and  helas  ! 
it  must  not  be  easy  to  have  it  mended  in  these 
barbarous  veelages." 

We  stopped  at  four  o'clock  at  a  wayside  hos 
telry,  and  I  had  quietly  made  up  my  mind  to  de- 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences         237 

scend  from  the  car,  and  take  rooms  for  the  night, 
whatever  the  place  might  be.  Unfortunately,  the 
same  idea  occurred  to  three  or  four  of  the  soaked 
travelers  ;  and  as  men  could  leap  down,  while 
ladies  must  wait  for  the  steps,  the  chivalrous  sex 
their  manners  obscured  by  the  circular  tour  sys 
tem,  secured  the  rooms,  and  I  was  obliged  to 
ascend  again,  wetter  than  ever,  to  my  perch  beside 
the  driver. 

"  Can  I  get  the  box  seat,  do  you  think,  if  I  pay 
extra  for  it?  "  I  had  asked  one  of  the  stablemen, 
before  breakfast. 

"  You  don't  need  to  be  payin',  miss  !  Just  con 
front  the  driver,  and  you  '11  get  it  aisy  !  "  If,  by 
the  way,  I  had  confronted  him  at  the  end  instead 
of  at  the  beginning  of  the  journey,  my  charms 
certainly  would  not  have  been  all  powerful,  for 
my  coat  had  been  leaked  upon  by  red  and  green 
umbrellas,  my  hat  was  a  shapeless  jelly,  and  my 
face  imprinted  with  the  spots  from  a  drenched 
blue  vail. 

After  two  hours  more  of  this  we  reached  the 
Shan  Van  Vocht  Hotel,  where  we  had  engaged 
apartments  ;  but  we  found  to  our  consternation 
that  it  was  full,  and  that  we  had  been  put  in  lodg 
ings  a  half  mile  away. 

Salemina,  wrhose  patience  was  quite  exhausted 
by  the  discomforts  of  the  day,  groaned  aloud 
when  we  were  deposited  at  the  door  of  a  village 
shop,  and  ushered  upstairs  to  our  tiny  quarters  j 


238         Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

but  she  ceased  abruptly  when  she  really  took  note 
of  our  surroundings.  Everything  was  humble, 
but  clean  and  shining,  —  glass,  crockery,  bedding, 
floor,  on  the  which  we  were  dripping  pools  of 
water,  while  our  landlady's  daughter  tried  to 
make  us  more  comfortable. 

"  It 's  a  soft  night  we  're  havin',"  she  said,  in  a 
dove's  voice,  "  but  we  '11  do  right  enough  if  the 
win'  does  n't  rise  up  on  us." 

Left  to  ourselves,  we  walked  about  the  wee 
rooms  on  ever  new  and  more  joyful  voyages  of 
discovery.  The  curtains  rolled  up  and  down 
easily ;  the  windows  were  propped  upon  nice 
clean  sticks  instead  of  tennis  rackets  and  hearth 
brushes  ;  there  was  a  well-washed  stone  to  keep 
the  curtain  down  on  the  sill  ;  and  just  outside 
were  tiny  window  gardens,  in  each  of  which  grew 
three  marigolds  and  three  asters,  in  a  box  fenced 
about  with  little  green  pickets.  There  were  well- 
dusted  books  on  the  tables,  and  Francesca  wanted 
to  sit  down  immediately  to  The  Charming  Cora, 
reprinted  from  The  Girl's  Own  Paper.  Salemina 
meantime  had  tempted  fate  by  looking  under  the 
bed,  where  she  found  the  floor  so  exquisitely  nea': 
that  she  patted  it  affectionately  with  her  hand. 

We  had  scarcely  donned  our  dry  clothing  when 
the  hotel  proprietor  sent  a  jaunting  car  for  our 
drive  to  the  seven-o'clock  table  d'hote  dinner. 
We  carefully  avoided  our  traveling  companions 
that  night,  but  learned  the  next  morning  that  the 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences         239 

Frenchman  had  slept  on  four  chairs,  and  rejected 
the  hotel  coffee  with  the  remark  that  it  was  not 
"veritable"  -—  a  criticism  in  which  he  was  quite 
justified.  Our  comparative  Englishman  had  oc 
cupied  a  cot  in  a  room  where  the  tin  bathtubs 
were  kept.  He  was  writing  to  the  Times  at  the 
moment  of  telling  me  his  woes,  and,  without  see 
ing  the  letter,  I  could  divine  his  impassioned  ad 
vice  never  to  travel  in  the  west  of  Ireland  in  rainy 
weather.  He  remarked  (as  if  quoting  from  his 
own  communication)  that  the  scenery  was  magni 
ficent,  but  that  there  was  an  entirely  insufficient 
supply  of  hot  water  ;  that  the  waiters  had  the  ap 
pearance  of  being  low  comedians,'  and  their  ser 
vice  was  of  the  character  one  might  expect  from 
that  description  ;  that  he  had  been  talking  before 
breakfast  with  a  German  gentleman,  who  had  sat 
on  a  wall  opposite  the  village  of  Dugort,  in  the 
island  of  Achill,  from  six  o'clock  in  the  morning 
until  nine,  and  in  that  time  he  had  seen  coming 
out  of  an  Irish  hut  three  geese,  eight  goslings, 
six  hens,  fifteen  chickens,  two  pigs,  two  cows, 
two  barefooted  girls,  the  master  of  the  house 
leading  a  horse,  three  small  children  carrying 
cloth  bags  filled  with  school-books,  and  finally 
a  strapping  mother  leading  a  donkey  loaded  with 
peat  baskets  ;  that  all  this  poverty  and  ignorance 
and  indolence  and  filth  was  spoiling  his  holiday ; 
and  finally,  that  if  he  should  be  as  greatly  disap 
pointed  in  the  fishing  as  he  had  been  in  the  hotel 


240         Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

accommodations, — here  we  almost  fainted  from 
suspense,  —  he  should  be  obliged  to  go  home! 
And  not  only  that,  but  he  should  feel  it  his  duty 
to  warn  others  of  what  they  might  expect. 

"  Perhaps  you  are  justified,"  said  Francesca 
sympathetically.  "People  who  are  used  to  the 
dry,  sunny  climate  and  the  clear  atmosphere  of 
London  ought  not  to  expose  themselves  to  Irish 
rain  without  due  consideration." 

He  agreed  with  her,  glancing  over  his  spec 
tacles  to  see  if  she  by  any  possibility  could  be 
amusing  herself  at  his  expense,  —  good  old  fussy, 
fault-finding  Veritas ;  but  indeed  Francesca's 
eyes  were  so  soft  and  lovely  and  honest  that  the 
more  he  looked  at  her,  the  less  he  could  do  her 
the  injustice  of  suspecting  her  sincerity. 

But  mind  you,  although  I  would  never  confess 
it  to  Veritas,  because  he  sees  nothing  but  flaws 
on  every  side,  the  Irish  pig  is,  to  my  taste,  a  tri 
fle  too  much  in  the  foreground.  He  pays  the 
rent,  no  doubt ;  but  this  magnificent  achievement 
could  be  managed  from  a  sty  in  the  rear,  ungrate 
ful  as  it  might  seem  to  immure  so  useful  a  person 
age  behind  a  door  or  conceal  his  virtues  from  the 
public  at  large. 


XXIV 

HUMORS    OF    THE    ROAD 

"  Cheerful  at  morn,  he  wakes  from  short  repose, 
Breasts  the  keen  air,  and  carols  as  he  goes.'' 

Oliver  Goldsmith. 

IF  you  drive  from  Clifden  to  Oughterard  by 
way  of  Maam  Cross,  and  then  on  to  Galway, 
you  will  pass  through  the  O'Flahertys'  country, 
one  of  whom,  Murrough  O'Flaherty,  was  gov 
ernor  of  this  county  of  lar  (western)  Connaught. 
You  will  like  to  see  the  last  of  the  O'Flaherty 
yews,  a  thousand  years  old  at  least,  and  the  ruins 
of  the  castle  and  banqueting  hall.  The  family 
glories  are  enumerated  in  ancient  Irish  manu 
script,  and  instead  of  the  butler,  footman,  chef, 
coachman,  and  gardener  of  to-day  we  read  of  the 
O'Flaherty  physician,  standard  bearer,  brehon  or 
judge,  master  of  the  revels,  and  keeper  of  the 
bees ;  and  the  moment  Himself  is  rich  enough,  I 
intend  to  add  some  of  these  picturesque  person 
ages  to  OUF  staff. 

We  afterwards  learned  that  there  was  formerly 
an  inscription  over  the  west  gate  of  Galway  :  — 

"   From  the  fury  of  the  O'Flaherties, 
Good  Lord,  deliver  us." 


242         Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

After  Richard  de  Burgo  took  the  town,  in  1226, 
it  became  a  flourishing  English  colony,  and  the 
citizens  must  have  guarded  themselves  from  any 
intercourse  with  the  native  Irish  ;  at  least,  an  old 
by-law  of  1518  enacts  that  "neither  O'  nor  Mac 
shalle  strutte  ne  swaggere  thro'  the  streetes  of 
Gal  way." 

We  did  not  go  to  Galway  straight,  because  we 
never  do  anything  straight.  We  seldom  get  any 
reliable  information,  and  never  any  inspiring  sug 
gestions,  from  the  natives  themselves.  They  are 
all  patriotically  sure  that  Ireland  is  the  finest 
counthry  in  the  world,  God  bless  her  !  but  in  the 
matter  of  seeing  that  finest  counthry  in  the  easi 
est  or  best  fashion  they  are  all  very  vague.  In 
directly,  our  own  lack  of  geography,  coupled  with 
the  ignorance  of  the  people  themselves,  has  been 
of  the  greatest  service  in  enlivening  our  journeys. 
Francesca  says  that,  in  looking  back,  she  finds 
that  our  errors  of  judgment  have  always  resulted 
in  our  most  charming  and  unforgettable  experi 
ences  ;  but  let  no  one  who  is  traveling  with  a 
well-balanced  and  logical-minded  man  attempt  to 
follow  in  our  footsteps. 

Being  as  free  as  air  on  this  occasion  (if  I  ex 
cept  the  dread  of  Benella's  scorn,  which  descends 
upon  us  now  and  then,  and  moves  us  to  repent 
ance,  sometimes  even  to  better  behavior),  we 
passed  Porridgetown  and  Cloomore,  and  ferried 
across  to  the  opposite  side  of  Lough  Corrib.  Sal- 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences         243 

emina,  of  course,  had  fixed  upon  Cong  as  our  ob 
jective  point,  because  of  its  caverns  and  archaeo 
logical  remains,  which  Dr.  La  Touche  tells  her 
not  on  any  account  to  miss.  Francesca  and  I 
said  nothing,  but  we  had  a  very  definite  idea  of 
avoiding  Cong,  and  going  nearer  Tuam,  to  climb 
Knockma,  the  hill  of  the  fairies,  and  explore  their 
ancient  haunts  and  archaeological  remains,  which 
are  more  in  our  line  than  the  caverns  of  Cong. 

Speaking  of  Dr.  La  Touche  reminds  me  that 
we  have  not  the  smallest  notion  as  to  how  our 
middle-aged  romance  is  progressing.  Absence 
may,  at  this  juncture,  be  just  as  helpful  a  force 
in  its  development  as  daily  intercourse  would  be  ; 
for  when  one  is  past  thirty,  I  fancy  there  is  a 
deal  of  "  thinking-it-over  "  to  do.  Precious  little 
there  is  when  we  are  younger  ;  heart  does  it  all 
then,  and  never  asks  head's  advice  !  But  in  too 
much  delay  there  lies  no  plenty,  and  there 's  the 
danger.  Actually,  Francesca  and  I  could  be  no 
more  anxious  to  settle  Salemina  in  life  if  she  were 
lame,  halt,  blind,  and  homeless,  instead  of  being 
attractive,  charming,  absurdly  young  for  her  age, 
and  not  without  means.  The  difficulty  is  that 
she  is  one  of  those  "  continent,  persisting,  im 
movable  persons  "  whom  Emerson  describes  as 
marked  out  for  the  blessing  of  the  world.  That 
quality  always  makes  a  man  anxious.  He  fears 
that  he  may  only  get  his  rightful  share  of  bless 
ing,  and  he  craves  the  whole  output,  so  to  speak. 


244         Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

We  naturally  mention  Dr.  La  Touche  very 
often,  since  he  is  always  writing  to  Salemina  or 
to  me,  offering  counsel  and  suggestion.  Madam 
La  Touche,  the  venerable  aunt,  has  written  also, 
asking  us  to  visit  them  in  Meath  ;  but  this  invita 
tion  we  have  declined,  principally  because  the 
Colquhouns  will  be  with  them,  and  they  would 
surely  be  burdened  by  the  addition  of  three  ladies 
and  a  maid  to  their  family;  partly  because  we 
shall  be  freer  in  our  own  house,  which  will  be  as 
near  the  La  Touche  mansion  as  possible,  you 
may  be  sure,  if  Francesca  and  I  have  anything  to 
do  with  choosing  it. 

The  La  Touche  name,  then,  is  often  on  our 
lips,  but  Salemina  offers  no  intimation  that  it  is 
indelibly  imprinted  on  her  heart  of  hearts.  It  is 
a  good  name  to  be  written  anywhere,  and  we  fan 
cied  there  was  the  slightest  possible  hint  of  pride 
and  possession  in  Salemina's  voice  when  she  read 
to  us  to-night,  from  her  third  volume  of  Lecky's 
History  of  Ireland  in  the  Eighteenth  Century,  a 
paragraph  concerning  one  David  La  Touche, 
from  whom  Dr.  Gerald  is  descended  :  - 

"  In  the  last  of  the  Irish  Parliaments  no  less 
than  five  members  of  the  name  sat  together  in 
the  House  of  Commons,  and  his  family  may  claim 
what  is  in  truth  the  highest  honor  of  which  an 
Irish  family  can  boast,  —  that  during  many  suc 
cessive  governments  and  in  a  period  of  most  lav 
ish  corruption  it  possessed  great  parliamentary 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences         245 

influence,  and  yet  passed  through   political  life 
untitled  and  unstained." 

There  is  just  the  faintest  gleam  of  hope,  by  the 
way,  that  Himself  may  join  us  at  the  very  end  of 
June,  and  he  is  sure  to  be  helpful  on  this  senti 
mental  journey  ;  he  aided  Ronald  and  Francesca 
more  than  once  in  their  tempestuous  love  affair, 
and  if  his  wits  are  not  dulled  by  marriage,  as  so 
often  happens,  he  will  be  invaluable.  It  will  not 
be  long  then,  probably,  before  I  assume  my 
natural,  my  secondary  position  in  the  landscape 
of  events.  The  junior  partners  are  now,  so  to 
speak,  on  their  legs,  although  it  is  idle  to  suppose 
that  such  brittle  appendages  will  support  them 
for  any  length  of  time.  As  soon  as  we  return  in 
the  autumn,  I  should  like  to  advertise  (if  Himself 
will  permit  me)  for  a  perfectly  sound  and  kind 
junior  partner,  —  one  who  has  been  well  broken 
to  harness,  and  who  will  neither  shy  nor  balk,  no 
matter  what  the  provocation  ;  the  next  step  being 
to  urge  Himself  to  relinquish  altogether  the  bond 
age  of  business  care.  There  is  no  need  of  his 
continuing  in  it,  since  other  people's  business 
will  always  give  him  ample  scope  for  his  energies. 
He  has,  since  his  return  to  America,  dispensed 
justice  and  mercy,  chiefly  mercy,  to  one  embezzler, 
one  honest  fellow  tempted  beyond  his  strength, 
one  widow,  one  unfortunate  friend  of  his  youth, 
and  two  orphans,  and  it  was  in  no  sense  an  extraor 
dinary  season. 


246         Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

To  return  to  notes  of  travel,  our  method  of  pro 
gression,  since  we  deserted  the  highroad  and  the 
public  car,  has  been  strangely  varied.  I  think 
there  is  no  manner  of  steed  or  vehicle  which  has 
not  been  used  by  us,  at  one  time  or  another,  even 
to  the  arch  donkey  and  the  low-backed  car  with 
its  truss  of  hay,  like  that  of  the  immortal  Peggy. 
I  thought  at  first  that  "  arch  "  was  an  unusual  ad 
jective  to  apply  to  a  donkey,  but  I  find  after  all 
that  it  is  abundantly  expressive.  Benella,  who 
disapproves  entirely  of  this  casual  sort  of  travel 
ing,  far  from  "  answerable  roads  "  and  in  "  back 
wards  places  "  (Irish  for  "  behind  the  times  "),  is 
yet  wonderfully  successful  in  discovering  equi 
pages  of  some  sort  in  unlikely  spots. 

In  towns  of  any  size  or  pretension,  we  find  by 
the  Town  Cross  or  near  the  inn  a  motley  collec 
tion  of  things  on  wheels,  with  drivers  sometimes 
as  sober  as  Father  Mathew,  sometimes  not.  Yes 
terday  we  had  a  mare  which  the  driver  confessed 
he  bought  without  "  overcircumspectin'  it,"  and 
although  you  could  n't,  as  he  said,  "  extinguish 
her  at  first  sight  from  a  grand  throtter,  she  had 
n't  rightly  the  speed  you  could  wish." 

"  It 's  not  so  powerful  young  she  is,  melady  !  " 
he  confessed.  "  You  'd  be  afther  lookin'  at  a 
chicken  a  long  time  and  niver  be  reminded  of 
her  ;  but  sure  ye  might  thry  her,  for  belike  ye 
would  n't  fancy  a  horse  that  would  be  leppin' 
stone  walls  wid  ye,  like  Dan  Ryan's  there !  My 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences         247 

little  baste  '11  get  ye  to  Rossan  before  night,  and 
she  won't  hurt  man  nor  mortial  in  doin'  it." 

"  Begorra,  you  're  right,  nor  herself  nayther," 
said  Dan  Ryan  ;  "  and  if  it 's  leppin'  ye  mane, 
sure  she  couldn't  lep  a  sod  o'  turf,  that  mare 
could  n't !  God  pardon  ye,  melady,  for  thrustin' 
yerself  to  that  paiceable  brindly-colored  ould  hin, 
whin  ye  might  be  gettin'  a  dacint  high-steppin' 
horse  for  a  shillin'  or  two  more  ;  an'  belike  I 
might  contint  meself  to  take  less,  for  I  would  n't 
be  extortin'  ye  like  Barney  O'Mara  there !  " 

Our  chosen  driver  replied  to  this  by  saying 
that  he  would  n't  be  caught  dead  at  a  pig  fair 
with  Dan  Ryan's  horse,  but  in  the  midst  of  all  the 
distracting  discussions  and  arguments  that  fol 
lowed  we  held  to  our  original  bargain  ;  for  we  did 
not  like  the  look  of  Dan  Ryan's  high-stepper,  who 
was  a  "  thrifle  mounto/ny,"  as  they  say  in  these 
parts,  and  had  a  wild  eye  to  boot.  We  started, 
and  in  a  half  hour  we  could  still  see  the  chapel 
spire  of  the  little  village  we  had  just  left.  It  was 
for  once  a  beautiful  day,  but  we  felt  that  we  must 
reach  a  railway  station  some  time  or  other,  in  or 
der  to  find  a  place  to  sleep. 

"  Can't  you  make  her  go  a  bit  faster  ?  Do  you 
want  to  keep  us  on  the  road  all  night  ?  "  inquired 
Francesca. 

"  I  do  not,  your  ladyship's  honor,  ma'am." 

"  Is  she  tired,  or  does  n't  she  ever  go  any  bet 
ter  ?  "  urged  Salemina. 


248         Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

"  She  does ;  it  's  God's  truth  I  'm  tellin'  ye, 
melady,  she 's  that  flippant  sometimes  that  I 
scarcely  can  hould  her,  and  the  car  jumps  undher 
her  like  a  spring  bed." 

"  Then  what  on  earth  is  the  matter  with  her  ? " 
I  inquired,  with  some  fire  in  my  eye. 

"  Sure  I  believe  she  's  takin'  time  to  think 
of  the  iligant  load  she  's  carryin',  melady,  and 
small  blame  to  her  !  "  said  Mr.  Barney  O'Mara  ; 
and  after  that  we  let  him  drive  as  best  he  could, 
although  it  did  take  us  four  hours  to  do  nine 
Irish  miles.  He  came,  did  Mr.  Barney,  from 
County  Armagh,  and  he  beguiled  the  way  with 
interesting  tales  from  that  section  of  Ireland,  one 
of  which,  "The  Old  Crow  and  the  Young  Crow," 
particularly  took  our  fancies. 

"  An  old  crow  was  teaching  a  young  crow  one 
day,  and  says  to  him,  *  Now  my  son,'  says  he, 
'  listen  to  the  advice  I  'm  going  to  give  you,'  says 
he.  '  If  you  see  a  person  coming  near  you  and 
stooping,  mind  yourself,  and  be  on  your  keeping  ; 
he's  stooping  for  a  stone  to  throw  at  you,'  says 
he. 

" '  But  tell  me,'  says  the  young  crow,  '  what 
should  I  do  if  he  had  a  stone  already  down  in 
his  pocket  ? '  says  he. 

"  *  Musha,  go  'long  out  of  that,'  says  the  old 
crow,  *  you  've  learned  enough  ;  the  divil  another 
learning  I  'm  able  to  give  you.'  " 

He  was  a  perfect  honey-pot  of  useless  and  un- 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences         249 

reliable  information,  was  Barney  O'Mara,  and 
most  learned  in  fairy  lore ;  but  for  that  matter, 
all  the  people  walking  along  the  road,  the  drivers, 
the  boatman  and  guides,  the  men  and  women  in  the 
cottages  where  we  stop  in  a  shower  or  to  inquire 
the  way,  relate  stories  of  phookas,  leprehauns, 
and  sprites,  banshees  and  all  the  various  classes 
of  elves  and  fays,  as  simply  and  seriously  as  they 
would  speak  of  any  other  occurrences.  Barney 
told  us  gravely  of  the  old  woman  who  was  in  the 
habit  of  laying  pishogues  (charms)  to  break  the 
legs  of  his  neighbor's  cattle,  because  of  an  ancient 
grudge  she  bore  him ;  and  also  how  necessary  it 
is  to  put  a  bit  of  burning  turf  under  the  churn  to 
prevent  the  phookas,  or  mischievous  fairies,  from 
abstracting  the  butter  or  spoiling  the  churning  in 
any  way.  Irish  fays  seem  to  be  much  interested 
in  dairy  matters,  for,  besides  the  sprites  who  de 
light  in  distracting  the  cream  and  keeping  back 
the  butter  (I  wonder  if  a  lazy  up-and-down  move 
ment  of  the  dasher  invites  them  at  all,  at  all  ?),  it 
is  well  known  that  many  a  milkmaid  on  a  May 
morning  has  seen  fairy  cows  browsing  along  the 
banks  of  lakes,  — cows  that  vanish  into  thin  mist 
at  the  sound  of  human  footfall. 

When  we  were  quite  cross  at  missing  the  noon 
train  from  Rossan,  quite  tired  of  the  car's  jolt 
ing,  somewhat  vexed  even  at  the  mare's  con 
tinued  enjoyment  of  her  "  iligant  load,"  Barney 
appeased  us  all  by  singing,  in  a  delightful  mel- 


250         Penelope  s  frisk  Experiences 


low  voice,  a  fairy  song  called  The  Leprehaun.1 
This  personage,  you  must  know,  if  you  have  n't 
a  large  acquaintance  among  Irish  fairies,  is  a 
tricksy  fellow  in  a  green  coat  and  scarlet  cap, 
with  brave  shoe  buckles  on  his  wee  brogues. 
You  will  catch  him  sometimes,  if  the  "glamour" 
is  on  you,  under  a  burdock  leaf  or  a  thorn  bush, 
and  he  is  always  making  or  mending  a  shoe. 
He  commonly  has  a  little  purse  about  him, 
which,  if  you  are  quick  enough,  you  can  snatch  ; 
and  a  wonderful  purse  it  is,  for,  whatever  you 
spend,  there  is  always  money  to  be  found  in 
it.  Truth  to  tell,  nobody  has  yet  succeeded  in 
being  quicker  than  Master  Leprehaun,  though 
many  have  offered  to  fill  his  cruiskeen  with 
"  mountain  dew,"  of  which  Irish  fairies  are  pas 
sionately  fond. 

"  In  a  shady  nook,  one  moonlight  night, 

A  leprehaun  I  spied  ; 
With  scarlet  cap  and  coat  of  green, 

A  cruiskeen  by  his  side. 
'T  was  tick,  tack,  tick,  his  hammer  went, 

Upon  a  weeny  shoe  ; 
And  I  laughed  to  think  of  his  purse  of  gold ; 

But  the  fairy  was  laughing  too  ! 

"  With  tip-toe  step  and  beating  heart, 

Quite  softly  I  drew  nigh  : 
There  was  mischief  in  his  merry  face, 

A  twinkle  in  his  eye. 
He  hammered,  and  sang  with  tiny  voice, 
And  drank  his  mountain  dew  ; 

1  By  Patrick  W.  Joyce. 


Penelopes  Irish  Experiences         251 

And  I  laughed  to  think  he  was  caught  at  last ; 
But  the  fairy  was  laughing  too ! 

"  As  quick  as  thought  I  seized  the  elf. 

'  Your  fairy  purse  ! '  I  cried. 
'  The  purse  ! '  he  said  — '  't  is  in  her  hand  — 

That  lady  at  your  side.' 
I  turned  to  look :  the  elf  was  off. 

Then  what  was  I  to  do  ? 
O,  I  laughed  to  think  what  a  fool  I  'd  been  ; 

And  the  fairy  was  laughing  too  !  " 

I  cannot  communicate  any  idea  of  the  rollick 
ing  gayety  and  quaint  charm  Barney  gave  to  the 
tune,  nor  the  light-hearted,  irresistible  chuckle 
with  which  he  rendered  the  last  two  lines,  giving  a 
snap  of  his  whip  as  accent  to  the  long  "  O  :  "  — 

"  O,  I  laughed  to  think  what  a  fool  I  'd  been ; 
And  the  fairy  was  laughing  too  ! " 

After  he  had  sung  it  twice  through,  Benella 
took  my  guitar  from  its  case  for  me,  and  we  sang 
it  after  him,  again  and  again ;  so  it  was  in  happy 
fashion  that  we  at  least  approached  Ballyrossan, 
where  we  bade  Barney  O'Mara  a  cordial  farewell, 
paying  him  four  shillings  over  his  fare,  which  was 
cheap  indeed  for  the  song. 

As  we  saw  him  vanish  slowly  up  the  road,  rag 
ged  himself,  the  car  and  harness  almost  ready  to 
drop  to  pieces,  the  mare,  I  am  sure,  in  the  last 
week  of  her  existence,  we  were  glad  that  he  had 
his  Celtic  fancy  to  enliven  his  life  a  bit,  —  that 
fancy  which  seems  a  providential  reaction  against 
the  cruel  despotisms  of  fact. 


XXV 

THE    WEE    FOLK 

"  There  sings  a  bonnie  linnet 

Up  the  heather  glen  ; 
The  voice  has  magic  in  it 

Too  sweet  for  mortal  men ! 
Sing  O,  the  blooming  heather, 

O,  the  heather  glen  ! 
Where  fairest  fairies  gather 

To  lure  in  mortal  men." 

CARRIG-A-FOOKA  INN,  near  Knockma, 
On  the  shores  of  Lough  Corrib. 

A  MODERN  Irish  poet 1  says  something  that 
Francesca  has  quoted  to  Ronald  in  her  letter  to 
day,  and  we  await  from  Scotland  his  confirmation 
or  denial.  He  accuses  the  Scots  of  having  dis 
covered  the  fairies  to  be  pagan  and  wicked,  and 
of  denouncing  them  from  the  pulpits,  whereas 
Irish  priests  discuss  with  them  the  state  of  their 
souls ;  or  at  least  they  did,  until  it  was  decided 
that  they  had  none,  but  would  dry  up  like  so 
much  bright  vapor  at  the  last  day.  It  was  more 
in  sadness  than  in  anger  that  the  priests  an 
nounced  this  fiat ;  for  Irish  sprites  and  goblins 
do  gay,  graceful,  and  humorous  things,  for  the 

1  W.  B.  Yeats. 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences         253 

most  part,  tricksy  sins,  not  deserving  annihila 
tion,  whereas  Scottish  fays  are  sometimes  malevo 
lent,  —  or  so  says  the  Irish  poet. 

This  is  very  sad,  no  doubt,  but  it  does  not  begin 
to  be  as  sad  as  having  no  fairies  at  all.  There 
must  have  been  a  few  in  England  in  Shakespeare's 
time,  or  he  could  never  have  written  The  Tem 
pest  or  the  Midsummer  Night's  Dream ;  but 
where  have  they  vanished  ? 

As  for  us  in  America,  I  fear  that  we  never  have 
had  any  "  wee  folk."  The  Indians  had  their  wood 
land  spirits,  spirits  of  rocks,  trees,  mountains, 
star  and  moon  maidens;  the  negroes  had  their 
enchanted  animals  and  conjure  men ;  but  as  for 
real  wee  folk,  either  they  were  not  indigenous 
to  the  soil  or  else  we  unconsciously  drove  them 
away.  Yet  we  had  facilities  to  offer  !  The  colum 
bines,  harebells,  and  fringed  gentians  would  have 
been  just  as  cosy  and  secluded  places  to  live  in 
as  the  Irish  foxgloves,  which  are  simply  running 
over  with  fairies.  Perhaps  they  would  n't  have 
liked  our  cold  winters ;  still  it  must  have  been 
something  more  than  climate,  and  I  am  afraid  I 
know  the  reason  well,  —  we  are  too  sensible ;  and 
if  there  is  anything  a  fairy  detests,  it  is  common 
sense.  We  are  too  rich,  also ;  and  a  second  thing 
that  a  fairy  abhors  is  the  chink  of  dollars.  Per 
haps,  when  I  am  again  enjoying  the  advantages 
brought  about  by  sound  money,  commercial  pros 
perity,  and  a  magnificent  system  of  public  educa- 


254         Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

tion,  I  shall  feel  differently  about  it ;  but  for  the 
moment  I  am  just  a  bit  embarrassed  and  crest 
fallen  to  belong  to  a  nation  absolutely  shunned 
by  the  fairies.  If  they  had  only  settled  among 
us  like  other  colonists,  shaped  us  to  their  ends  as 
far  as  they  could,  and,  when  they  could  n't,  con 
formed  themselves  to  ours,  there  might  have  been, 
by  this  time,  fairy  trusts  stretching  out  benign 
arms  all  over  the  continent. 

Of  course  it  is  an  age  of  incredulity,  but  Sale- 
mina,  Francesca,  and  I  have  not  come  to  Ireland 
to  scoff,  and,  whatever  we  do  we  shall  not  go  to 
the  length  of  doubting  the  fairies  ;  for,  as  Barney 
O'Mara  says,  "  they  stand  to  raison." 

Glen  Ailna  is  a  "gentle  "  place  near  Carrig-a- 
fooka  Inn,  —  that  is,  one  beloved  by  the  shee- 
hognes ;  and  though  you  may  be  never  so  much 
interested,  I  may  not  tell  you  its  exact  where 
abouts,  since  no  one  can  ever  find  it  unless  he  is 
himself  under  the  glamour.  Perhaps  you  might 
be  a  doubter,  with  no  eyes  for  the  "  dim  king 
dom  ; "  perhaps  you  might  gaze  forever,  and 
never  be  able  to  see  a  red-capped  fiddler,  fiddling 
under  a  blossoming  sloe  bush.  You  might  even 
see  him,  and  then  indulge  yourself  in  a  fit  of 
common  sense  or  doubt  of  your  own  eyes,  in 
which  case  the  wee  dancers  would  never  flock  to 
the  sound  of  the  fiddle  or  gather  on  the  fairy  ring. 
This  is  the  reason  that  I  shall  never  take  you  to 
Knockma,  to  Glen  Ailna,  or  especially  to  the  hy- 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences         255 

acinth  wood,  which  is  a  little  plantation  near  the 
ruin  of  a  fort.  Just  why  the  fairies  are  so  fond 
of  an  old  rath  or  Us  I  cannot  imagine,  for  you 
would  never  suppose  that  antiquaries,  archaeolo 
gists,  and  wee  folk  would  care  for  the  same 
places. 

I  have  no  intention  of  interviewing  the  grander 
personages  among  the  Irish  fairies,  for  they  are 
known  to  be  haughty,  unapproachable,  and  severe, 
as  befits  the  descendants  of  the  great  Nature 
Gods  and  the  under-deities  of  flood  and  fell 
and  angry  sea.  It  is  the  lesser  folk,  the  gay, 
gracious,  little  men  that  I  wish  to  meet ;  those 
who  pipe  and  dance  on  the  fairy  ring.  The 
"  ring  "  is  made,  you  know,  by  the  tiny  feet  that 
have  tripped  for  ages  and  ages,  flying,  dancing, 
circling,  over  the  tender  young  grass.  Rain  can 
not  wash  it  away ;  you  may  walk  over  it ;  you 
may  even  plough  up  the  soil,  and  replant  it  ever 
so  many  times  ;  the  next  season  the  fairy  ring 
shines  in  the  grass  just  the  same.  It  seems 
strange  that  I  am  blind  to  it,  when  an  igno 
rant,  dirty  spalpeen  who  lives  near  the  foot  of 
Knockma  has  seen  it  and  heard  the  fairy  music 
again  and  again.  He  took  me  to  the  very  place 
where,  last  Lammas  Eve,  he  saw  plainly — for 
there  was  a  beautiful  white  moon  overhead  — 
the  arch  king  and  queen  of  the  fairies,  who  ap 
pear  only  on  state  occasions,  together  with  a  crowd 
of  dancers,  and  more  than  a  dozen  pipers  piping 


256         Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

melodious  music.  Not  only  that,  but  (lucky  lit 
tle  beggar  !)  he  heard  distinctly  the  fulparnee  and 
the  folpornee,  the  rap-lay-hoota  and  the  roolya- 
boolya,  —  noises  indicative  of  the  very  jolliest  and 
wildest  and  most  uncommon  form  of  fairy  con 
viviality.  Failing  a  glimpse  of  these  midsummer 
revels,  my  next  choice  would  be  to  see  the  Elf 
Horseman  galloping  round  the  shores  of  the 
Fairy  Lough  in  the  cool  of  the  morn. 

"  Loughareema,  Loughareema, 

Stars  come  out  and  stars  are  hidin' ; 
The  wather  whispers  on  the  stones, 

The  flittherin'  moths  are  free. 
Onest  before  the  mornin'  light 

The  Horseman  will  come  ridin' 
Roun'  an'  roun'  the  Fairy  Lough, 

An'  no  one  there  to  see." 

But  there  will  be  some  one  there,  and  that  is 
the  aforesaid  Jamesy  Flanigan!  Sometimes  I 
think  he  is  fibbing,  but  a  glance  at  his  soft,  dark, 
far-seeing  eyes  under  their  fringe  of  thick  lashes 
convinces  me  to  the  contrary.  His  field  of  vision 
is  different  from  mine,  that  is  all,  and  he  fears 
that  if  I  accompany  him  to  the  shores  of  the 
Fairy  Lough  the  Horseman  will  not  ride  for  him  ; 
so  I  am  even  taunted  with  undue  common  sense 
by  a  little  Irish  gossoon. 

I  tried  to  coax  Benella  to  go  with  me  to  the 
hyacinth  wood  by  moonlight.  Fairies  detest  a 
crowd,  and  I  ought  to  have  gone  alone ;  but,  to 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences         257 

tell  the  truth,  I  hardly  dared,  for  they  have  a  way 
of  kidnapping  attractive  ladies  and  keeping  them 
for  years  in  the  dim  kingdom.  I  would  not  trust 
Himself  at  Glen  Ailna  for  worlds,  for  gentle 
men  are  not  exempt  from  danger.  Connla  of 
the  Golden  Hair  was  lured  away  by  a  fairy  mai 
den,  and  taken,  in  a  "  gleaming,  straight-gliding, 
strong  crystal  canoe,"  to  her  domain  in  the  hills  ; 
and  Oisin,  you  remember,  was  transported  to  the 
Land  of  the  Ever  Youthful  by  the  beautiful 
Niam.  If  one  could  only  be  sure  of  coming 
back  !  but  Oisin,  for  instance,  was  detained  three 
hundred  years,  so  one  might  not  be  allowed  to 
return,  and  still  worse,  one  might  not  wish  to ; 
three  hundred  years  of  youth  would  tempt  —  a 
woman  !  My  opinion,  after  reading  the  Elf  Er 
rant,  is  that  one  of  us  has  been  there,  —  Moira 
O'Neill.  I  should  suspect  her  of  being  able  to 
wear  a  fairy  cap  herself,  were  it  not  for  the  hu 
man  heart-throb  in  her  verses  ;  but  I  am  sure  she 
has  the  glamour  whenever  she  desires  it,  and 
hears  the  fairy  pipes  at  will. 

Benella  is  of  different  stuff ;  she  not  only  dis 
trusts  fairies,  but,  like  the  Scotch  Presbyterians, 
she  fears  that  they  are  wicked.  "  Still,  you  say 
they  have  n't  got  immortal  souls  to  save,  and  I 
don't  suppose  they  're  responsible  for  their  ac 
tions,"  she  allows  ;  "  but  as  for  traipsing  up  to 
those  heathenish  haunted  woods  when  all  Chris 
tian  folks  are  in  bed,  I  don't  believe  in  it,  and 


258         Penelopes  Irish  Experiences 


neither  would  Mr.  Beresford ;  but  if  you're  set 
on  it,  I  shall  go  with  you !  " 

"  You  would  n't  be  of  the  slightest  use,"  I 
answered  severely ;  "  indeed,  you  'd  be  worse 
than  nobody.  The  fairies  cannot  endure  doubt 
ers  ;  it  makes  them  fold  their  wings  over  their 
heads  and  shrink  away  into  their  flower  cups. 
I  should  be  mortified  beyond  words  if  a  fairy 
should  meet  me  in  your  company." 

Benella  seemed  hurt  and  a  trifle  resentful  as 
she  replied  :  "  That  about  doubters  is  just  what 
Mrs.  Kimberly  used  to  say."  (Mrs.  Kimberly  is 
the  Salem  priestess,  the  originator  of  the  "  sci 
ence.")  "  She  could  n't  talk  a  mite  if  there  was 
doubters  in  the  hall ;  and  it 's  so  with  spiritualists 
and  clairvoyants  too,  —  they  're  all  of  'em  scare- 
cats.  I  guess  likely  that  those  that 's  so  afraid  of 
being  doubted  has  some  good  reason  for  it  !  " 

Well,  I  never  went  to  the  hyacinth  wood  by 
moonlight,  since  so  many  objections  were  raised, 
but  I  did  go  once  at  noonday,  the  very  most  un 
likely  hour  of  all  the  twenty- four,  and  yet  — 

As  I  sat  there  beneath  a  gnarled  thorn,  weary 
and  warm  with  my  climb,  I  looked  into  the  heart 
of  a  bluebell  forest  growing  under  a  circle  of 
gleaming  silver  birches,  and  suddenly  I  heard 
fairy  music,  —  at  least  it  was  not  mortal,  —  and 
many  sounds  were  mingled  in  it :  the  sighing  of 
birches,  the  carol  of  a  lark,  the  leap  and  laugh  of 
a  silvery  runnel  tumbling  down  the  hillside,  the 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences         259 

soft  whir  of  butterflies'  wings,  and  a  sweet  little 
over  or  under  tone,  from  the  over  or  under  world, 
that  I  took  to  be  the  opening  of  a  million  hyacinth 
buds  in  the  sunshine.  Then  I  heard  the  delicious 
sound  of  a  fairy  laugh,  and,  looking  under  a 
swaying  branch  of  meadowsweet,  I  saw  —  yes, 
I  really  saw  — 

You  must  know  that  first  a  wee  green  door 
swung  open  in  the  stem  of  the  meadowsweet,  and 
out  of  that  land  where  you  can  buy  joy  for  a 
penny  came  a  fairy  in  the  usual  red  and  green. 
I  had  the  Elf  Errant  in  my  lap,  and  I  think  that 
in  itself  made  him  feel  more  at  home  with  me,  as 
well  as  the  fact,  perhaps,  that  for  the  moment  I 
was  n't  a  bit  sensible  and  had  no  money  about 
me.  I  was  all  ready  with  an  Irish  salutation,  for 
the  purpose  of  further  disarming  his  aversion.  I 
intended  to  say,  as  prettily  as  possible,  though, 
alas,  I  cannot  manage  the  brogue,  "  And  what 
way  do  I  see  you  now  ?  "  or  "  Good-mornin'  to 
yer  honor's  honor  !  "  But  I  was  struck  dumb  by 
my  good  fortune  at  seeing  him  at  all.  He  looked 
at  me  once,  and  then,  flinging  up  his  arms,  he 
gave  a  weeny,  weeny  yawn  !  This  was  discon 
certing,  for  people  almost  never  yawn  in  my  com 
pany  ;  and  to  make  it  worse,  he  kept  on  yawning, 
until,  for  very  sympathy,  and  not  at  all  in  the  way 
of  revenge,  I  yawned  too.  Then  the  green  door 
swung  open  again,  and  a  gay  rabble  of  wide 
awake  fairies  came  trooping  out :  and  some  of 


260         Penelopes  Irish  Experiences 

them  kissed  the  hyacinth  bells  to  open  them,  and 
some  of  them  flew  to  the  thorn  tree,  until  every 
little  brancheen  was  white  with  flowers,  where 
but  a  moment  ago  had  been  tightly  closed  buds. 
The  yawning  fairy  slept  meanwhile  under  the 
swaying  meadowsweet,  and  the  butterflies  fanned 
him  with  their  soft  wings ;  but,  alas,  it  could 
not  have  been  the  hour  for  dancing  on  the  fairy 
ring,  nor  the  proper  time  for  the  fairy  pipers, 
and  long,  long,  as  I  looked  I  saw  and  heard  no 
thing  more  than  what  I  have  told  you.  Indeed, 
I  presently  lost  even  that,  for  a  bee  buzzed,  a 
white  petal  dropped  from  the  thorn  tree  on  my 
face,  there  was  a  scraping  of  tiny  claws  and  the 
sound  of  two  squirrels  barking  love  to  each  other 
in  the  high  branches,  and  in  that  moment  the 
glamour  that  was  upon  me  vanished  in  a  twinkling. 

"  But  I  really  did  see  the  fairies  !  "  I  exclaimed 
triumphantly  to  Benella  the  doubter,  when  I  re 
turned  to  Carrig-a-fooka  Inn,  much  too  late  for 
luncheon. 

"  I  want  to  know !  "  she  exclaimed,  in  her  New 
England  vernacular.  "  I  guess  by  the  looks  o' 
your  eyes  they  didn't  turn  out  to  be  very  lively 
comp'ny  !  " 


PART   FIFTH 
ROYAL   MEATH 


PART    FIFTH.      ROYAL    MEATH 

XXVI 

IRELAND'S  GOLD 

"  I  sat  upon  the  rustic  seat  — 

The  seat  an  aged  bay-tree  crowns  — 
And  saw  outspreading  from  our  feet 

The  golden  glory  of  the  Downs. 
The  furze-crowned  heights,  the  glorious  glen, 

The  white-walled  chapel  glistening  near, 
The  house  of  God,  the  homes  of  men. 
The  fragrant  hay,  the  ripening  ear." 

Denis  Florence  McCarthy. 

THE  OLD  HALL,  DEVORGILLA, 
Vale  of  the  Boyne. 

WE  have  now  lived  in  each  of  Ireland's  four 
provinces  :  Leinster,  Munster,  Ulster,  and  Con- 
naught,  but  the  confines  of  these  provinces,  and 
their  number,  have  changed  several  times  since 
the  beginning  of  history.  In  A.  D.  130  the  Mile 
sian  monarchy  was  restored  in  the  person  of  Tua- 
thal  (Too  'hal)  the  Legitimate.  Over  each  of  the 
Irish  provinces  was  a  ri  or  king,  and  there  was 
also  over  all  Ireland  an  Ard-ri  or  supreme  mon 
arch  who  lived  at  Tara  up  to  the  time  of  its  aban 
donment  in  the  sixth  century.  Before  TuathaFs 


264         Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

day,  the  Ard-ri  had  for  his  land  allowance  only  a 
small  tract  around  Tara,  but  Tuathal  cut  off  a 
portion  from  each  of  the  four  older  provinces,  at 
the  Great  Stone  of  Divisions  in  the  centre  of  Ire 
land,  making  the  fifth  province  of  Royal  Meath, 
which  has  since  disappeared,  but  which  was  much 
larger  than  the  present  two  counties  of  Meath 
and  Westmeath.  In  this  once  famous,  and  now 
most  lovely  and  fertile  spot,  with  the  good  republi 
can's  love  of  royalty  and  royal  institutions,  we 
have  settled  ourselves ;  in  the  midst  of  verdant 
plains  watered  by  the  Boyne  and  the  Blackwater, 
here  rippling  over  shallows,  there  meandering  in 
slow  deep  reaches  between  reedy  banks. 

The  Old  Hall,  from  which  I  write,  is  some 
where  in  the  vale  of  the  Boyne,  somewhere  near 
Yellow  Steeple,  not  so  far  from  Treadagh,  only  a 
few  miles  from  Ballybilly  (I  hope  to  be  forgiven 
this  irreverence  to  the  glorious  memory  of  his 
Majesty,  William,  Prince  of  Orange  !),  and  within 
driving  distance  of  Killkienan,  Croagh-Patrick, 
Domteagh,  and  Tara  Hill  itself.  If  you  know 
your  Royal  Meath,  these  geographical  sugges 
tions  will  give  you  some  idea  of  our  location  ,•  if 
not,  take  your  map  of  Ireland,  please  (a  thing  no 
body  has  near  him),  and  find  the  town  of  Tuam, 
where  you  left  us  a  little  time  ago.  You  will  see 
a  railway  line  from  Tuam  to  Athenry,  Athlone, 
and  Mullingar.  Anybody  can  visit  Mullingar 
—  it  is  for  the  million  ;  but  only  the  elect  may  go 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences         265 

to  Devorgilla.  It  is  the  captive  of  our  bow  and 
spear  ;  or,  to  change  the  figure,  it  is  a  violet  by  a 
mossy  stone,  which  we  refuse  to  have  plucked 
from  its  poetic  solitude  and  worn  in  the  bosom  or 
in  the  buttonhole  of  the  tourist. 

At  Mullingar,  then,  we  slip  on  enchanted  gar 
ments  which  conceal  us  from  the  casual  eye,  and 
disappear  into  what  is,  in  midsummer,  a  bower 
of  beauty.  There  you  will  find,  when  you  find 
us,  Devorgilla,  lovely  enough  to  be  Tir-nan-og, 
that  Land  of  the  Ever  Youthful  well  known  to 
the  Celts  of  long  ago.  Here  we  have  rested  our 
weary  bodies  and  purified  our  travel  -  stained 
minds.  Fresh  from  the  poverty-ridden  hillsides 
of  Connaught,  these  rich  grazing  lands,  com-, 
fortable  houses,  magnificent  demesnes  and  cas 
tles,  are  unspeakably  grateful  to  the  eye  and 
healing  to  the  spirit.  We  have  not  forgotten, 
shall  never  forget,  our  Connemara  folk,  nor  yet 
Omadhaun  Pat  and  dark  Timsy  of  Lisdara  in  the 
north ;  but  it  is  good,  for  a  change,  to  breathe 
in  this  sense  of  general  comfort,  good  cheer,  and 
abundance. 

Benella  is  radiant,  for  she  is  near  enough  to 
Trim  to  go  there  occasionally  to  seek  for  traces 
of  her  ancestress,  Mary  Boyce  ;  and  as  for  Sale- 
mina,  this  bit  of  country  is  a  Mecca  for  antiqua 
ries  and  scholars,  and  we  are  fairly  surrounded 
by  towers,  tumuli,  and  cairns.  "It 's  mostly  ruins 
they  do  be  wantin',  these  days,"  said  a  wayside 


266         Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 


acquaintance.  "  I  built  a  stone  house  for  my 
donkey  on  the  knockaun  beyant  my  cabin  jist, 
and  bedad,  there  's  a  crowd  round  it  every  Sat 
urday  callin'  it  the  risidence  of  wan  of  the  Dan 
ish  kings !  An'  they  are  diggin'  at  Tara  now, 
ma'am,  looking  for  the  Ark  of  the  Covenant ! 
They  do  be  sayin'  the  prophet  Jeremiah  come 
over  from  England  and  brought  it  wid  him. 
Begorra,  it  's  a  lucky  man  he  was  to  git  away 
wid  it." 

Added  to  these  advantages  of  position,  we 
are  within  a  few  miles  of  Rosnaree,  Dr.  La 
Touche's  demesne,  to  which  he  comes  home  from 
Dublin  to-morrow,  bringing  with  him  our  dear 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Colquhoun  of  Ardnagreena.  We 
have  been  here  ourselves  for  ten  days,  and  are 
flattered  to  think  that  we  have  used  the  time  as 
unconventionally  as  we  could  well  have  done. 
We  made  a  literary  pilgrimage  first,  but  that  is 
another  story,  and  I  will  only  say  that  we  had 
a  day  in  Edgeworthstown  a^.d  a  drive  through 
Goldsmith's  country,  where  we  saw  the  Deserted 
Village,  with  its  mill  and  brook,  the  "  church 
that  tops  the  neighboring  hill ; "  and  even  rested 
under 

"  The  hawthorn  bush  with  seats  beneath  the  shade 
For  talking  age  and  whispering  lovers  made."' 

There  are  many  parts  of  Ireland  where  one 
could  not  find  a  habitable  house  to  rent,  but  in  this 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences         267 

locality  they  are  numerous  enough  to  make  it 
possible  to  choose.  We  had  driven  over  perhaps 
twenty  square  miles  of  country,  with  the  view  of 
selecting  the  most  delectable  spot  that  could  be 
found,  without  going  too  far  from  Rosnaree. 
The  chief  trouble  was  that  we  always  desired 
every  dwelling  that  we  saw.  I  tell  you  this  with 
a  view  of  lessening  the  shock  when  I  confess  that, 
before  we  came  to  the  Old  Hall  where  we  are  now 
settled  for  a  month,  and  which  was  Salemina's 
choice,  Francescaand  I  took  two  different  houses, 
and  lived  in  them  for  seven  days,  each  in  solitary 
splendor,  like  the  Prince  of  Coolavin.  It  was  not 
difficult  to  agree  upon  the  district,  we  were  of  one 
mind  there  ;  the  moment  that  we  passed  the  town 
and  drove  along  the  flowery  way  that  leads  to 
Devorgilla,  we  knew  that  it  was  the  road  of 
destiny. 

The  white  thorn  is  very  late  this  year,  and  we 
found  ourselves  in  the  full  glory  of  it.  It  is 
beautiful  in  all  its  stages,  from  the  time  when  it 
first  opens  its  buds,  to  the  season  when  "  every 
spray  is  white  with  May,  and  blooms  the  eglan 
tine."  There  is  no  hint  of  green  leaf  visible  then, 
and  every  tree  is  "  as  white  as  the  snow  of  one 
night."  This  is  the  Gaelic  comparison,  and  the 
first  snow  seems  especially  white  and  dazzling,  I 
suppose,  when  one  sees  it  in  the  morning  where 
were  green  fields  the  night  before.  The  sloe, 
which  is  the  blackthorn,  comes  still  earlier  and 


268         Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

has  fewer  leaves.  That  is  the  tree  of  the  old 
English  song  :  — 

"  From  the  white-blossomed  sloe 
My  dear  Chloe  requested 

A  sprig  her  fair  breast  to  adorn. 
'  No,  by  Heav'ns  ! '  I  exclaimed,  'may  I  perish, 

If  ever  I  plant  in  that  bosom  a  thorn  ! '  " 

And  it  is  not  only  trees,  but  hedges  and  bushes 
and  groves  of  hawthorn,  for  a  white  thorn  bush 
is  seldom  if  ever  cut  down  here,  lest  a  grieved  and 
displeased  fairy  look  up  from  the  cloven  trunk, 
and  no  Irishman  could  bear  to  meet  the  reproach 
of  her  eyes.  Do  not  imagine,  however,  that  we 
are  all  in  white,  like  a  bride  :  there  is  the  pink 
hawthorn,  and  there  are  pink  and  white  horse- 
chestnuts  laden  with  flowers,  yellow  laburnums 
hanging  over  whitewashed  farm  buildings,  lilacs, 
and,  most  wonderful  of  all,  the  blaze  of  the  yel 
low  gorse.  There  will  be  a  thorn  hedge  struggling 
with  and  conquering  a  gray  stone  wall ;  then  a 
golden  gorse  bush  struggling  with  and  conquer 
ing  the  thorn  ;  seeking  the  sun,  it  knows  no  re 
straints,  and  creeping  through  the  barriers  of 
green  and  white  and  gray,  it  fairly  hurls  its  yellow 
splendors  in  great  blazing  patches  along  the  way 
side.  In  dazzling  glory,  in  richness  of  color, 
there  is  nothing  in  nature  that  we  can  compare 
with  this  loveliest  and  commonest  of  all  wayside 
weeds.  The  gleaming  wealth  of  the  Klondike 
would  make  but  a  poor  showing  beside  a  single 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences        269 

Irish  hedgerow;  one  would  think  that  Mother 
Earth  had  stored  in  her  bosom  all  the  sunniest 
gleams  of  bygone  summers,  and  was  now  giving 
them  back  to  the  sun  king  from  whom  she  bor 
rowed  them. 

It  was  at  twilight  when  we  first  swam  this  fra 
grant  golden  sea,  —  twilight,  and  the  birds  were 
singing  in  every  bush  ;  the  thrushes  and  black 
birds  in  the  blossoming  cherry  and  chestnut 
trees  were  so  many  and  so  tuneful  that  the  chorus 
was  sweet  and  strong  beyond  anything  I  ever 
heard.  There  had  been  a  shower  or  two,  of 
course  ;  showers  that  looked  like  shimmering  cur 
tains  of  silver  gauze,  and  whether  they  lifted  or 
fell  the  birds  went  on  singing. 

"  I  did  not  believe  such  a  thing  possible,  but  it 
is  lovelier  than  Pettybaw,"  said  Francesca  ;  and 
just  here  we  came  in  sight  of  a  pink  cottage  cud 
dling  on  the  breast  of  a  hill.  Pink  the  cottage 
was,  as  if  it  had  been  hewed  out  of  a  coral  branch 
or  the  heart  of  a  salmon  ;  pink-washed  were  the 
stone  walls  and  posts ;  pink  even  were  the  chim 
neys  ;  a  green  lattice  over  the  front  was  the  only 
leaf  in  the  bouquet.  Wallflowers  grew  against 
the  pink  stone  walls,  and  there  is  no  beautiful 
word  in  any  beautiful  language  that  can  describe 
the  effect  of  that  modest  rose-hued  dwelling 
blushing  against  a  background  of  heather-brown 
hills  covered  solidly  with  golden  gorse  bushes  in 
full  bloom.  Himself  and  I  have  always  agreed 


270         Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

to  spend  our  anniversaries  with  Mrs.  Bobby  at 
Comfort  Cottage,  in  England,  or  at  Bide-a-Wee, 
the  "  wee  theekit  hoosie  "  in  the  loaning  at  Petty- 
baw,  for  our  little  love  story  was  begun  in  the 
one  and  carried  on  in  the  other ;  but  this,  this, 
I  thought  instantly,  must  somehow  be  crowded 
into  the  scheme  of  red-letter  days.  And  now  we 
suddenly  discovered  something  at  once  interesting 
and  disconcerting,  —  an  American  flag  floating 
from  a  tree  in  the  background. 

"The  place  is  rented,  then,"  said  Francesca, 
"to  some  enterprising  American  or  some  star- 
spangled  Irishman  who  has  succeeded  in  dis 
covering  Devorgilla  before  us.  I  well  understand 
how  the  shade  of  Columbus  must  feel  whenever 
Amerigo  Vespucci's  name  is  mentioned  !  " 

We  sent  the  driver  off  to  await  our  pleasure, 
and  held  a  consultation  by  the  wayside. 

"  I  shall  call,  at  any  rate,"  I  announced  ;  "  any 
excuse  will  serve  which  brings  me  nearer  to  that 
adorable  dwelling.  I  intend  to  be  standing  in 
that  pink  doorway,  with  that  green  lattice  over 
my  head,  when  Himself  arrives  in  Devorgilla.  I 
intend  to  end  my  days  within  those  rosy  walls, 
and  to  begin  the  process  at  the  earliest  possible 
moment." 

Salemina  disapproved,  of  course.  Her  method 
is  always  to  stand  well  in  the  rear,  trembling  be 
forehand  lest  I  should  do  something  unc<5nven- 
tional;  then,  later  on,  when  things  romantic 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences         271 

begin  to  transpire,  she  says  delightedly,  "  Was  n't 
that  clever  of  us  ?  " 

"  An  American  flag,"  I  urged,  "  is  a  proclama 
tion  ;  indeed,  it  is,  in  a  sense,  an  invitation ;  be 
sides  it  is  my  duty  to  salute  it  in  a  foreign 
land  ! " 

"  Patriotism,  how  many  sins  are  practiced  in 
thy  name  !  "  said  Salemina  satirically.  "  Can't 
you  salute  your  flag  from  the  highroad  ?  " 

"  Not  properly,  Sally  dear,  nor  satisfactorily. 
So  you  and  Francesca  sit  down,  timidly  and  re 
spectably,  under  the  safe  shadow  of  the  hedge, 
while  I  call  upon  the  blooming  family  in  the  dar 
ling  blooming  house.  I  am  an  American  artist, 
lured  to  their  door  alike  by  devotion  to  my  coun 
try's  flag  and  love  of  the  picturesque."  And  so 
saying  I  ascended  the  path  with  some  dignity  and 
a  false  show  of  assurance. 

The  circumstances  did  not  chance  to  be  pre 
cisely  what  I  had  expected.  There  was  a  nice 
girl  tidying  the  kitchen,  and  I  found  no  difficulty 
in  making  friends  with  her.  Her  mother  owned 
the  cottage,  and  rented  it  every  season  to  a  Bel 
fast  lady,  who  was  coming  in  a  week  to  take 
possession,  as  usual.  The  American  flag  had 
been  floating  in  honor  of  her  mother's  brother, 
who  had  come  over  from  Milwaukee  to  make 
them  a  little  visit,  and  had  just  left  that  afternoon 
to  sail  from  Liverpool.  The  rest  of  the  family 
lived,  during  the  three  summer  months,  in  a 


2/2         Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

smaller  house  down  the  road  ;  but  she  herself 
always  stayed  at  the  cottage,  to  "  mind  "  the  Bel 
fast  lady's  children. 

When  I  looked  at  the  pink  floor  of  the  kitchen 
and  the  view  from  the  windows,  I  would  have 
given  anything  in  the  world  to  outbid,  yes,  even 
to  obliterate  the  Belfast  lady ;  but  this,  unfortu 
nately  was  not  only  illegal  and  immoral,  but  it 
was  impossible.  So,  calling  the  mother  in  from 
the  stables,  I  succeeded,  after  fifteen  minutes' 
persuasion,  in  getting  permission  to  occupy  the 
house  for  one  week,  beginning  with  the  next  morn 
ing,  and  returned  in  triumph  to  my  weary  consti 
tuents,  who  thought  it  an  insane  idea. 

"Of  course  it  is,"  I  responded  cheerfully: 
"  that  is  why  it  is  going  to  be  so  altogether  charm 
ing.  Don't  be  envious  ;  I  will  find  something 
mad  for  you  to  do,  too.  One  of  us  is  always 
submitting  to  the  will  of  the  majority  :  now 
let  us  be  as  individually  silly  as  we  like  for  a 
week,  and  then  take  a  long  farewell  of  freakish- 
ness  and  freedom.  Let  the  third  volume  die 
in  lurid  splendor,  since  there  is  never  to  be  a 
fourth." 

"  There  is  still  Wales,"  suggested  Francesca. 

"Too  small,  Fanny  dear,  and  we  could  never 
pronounce  the  names.  Besides,  what  sort  of 
adventures  would  be  possible  to  three  —  I  mean, 
of  course,  two  —  persons  tied  down  by  marital 
responsibilities  and  family  cares  ?  Is  it  the  sun- 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences         273 

set  or  the  reflection  of  the  pink  house  that  is  shin 
ing  on  your  pink  face,  Salemina  ?  " 

"  I  am  extremely  warm,"  she  replied  haughtily. 

"  I  don't  wonder ;  sitting  on  the  damp  grass 
under  a  hedge  is  so  stimulating  to  the  circula 
tion  ! "  observed  "  young  Miss  Fan." 


XXVII 

THE    THREE    CHATELAINES    OF    DEVORGILLA 

"  Have  you  been  at  Devorgilla, 

Have  you  seen,  at  Devorgilla, 
Beauty's  train  trip  o  'er  the  plain,  — 
The  lovely  maids  of  Devorgilla  ? " 

Adapted  from  Edward  Lysaght, 

THE  next  morning  the  Old  Hall  dropped  like  a 
ripe  rowan  berry  into  our  very  laps.  The  land 
lord  of  the  Shamrock  Inn  directed  us  thither,  and 
within  the  hour  it  belonged  to  us  for  the  rest  of 
the  summer.  Miss  Peabody,  inclined  to  be  severe 
with  me  for  my  desertion,  took  up  her  residence 
at  once.  It  had  never  been  rented  before  ;  but 
Miss  Llewellyn-Joyce,  the  owner,  had  suddenly 
determined  to  visit  her  sister  in  London,  and  was 
glad  to  find  appreciative  and  careful  tenants.  She 
was  taking  her  own  maid  with  her,  and  thus  only 
one  servant  remained,  to  be  rented  with  the  pre 
mises,  as  is  frequently  the  Irish  fashion.  The 
Old  Hall  has  not  always  been  managed  thus 
economically,  it  is  easy  to  see,  and  Miss  Llewel 
lyn-Joyce  speaks  with  the  utmost  candor  of  her 
poverty,  as  indeed  the  ruined  Irish  gentry  always 
do.  I  well  remember  taking  tea  with  a  family  in 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences         27  5 

West  Clare  where  in  default  of  a  spoon,  the  old 
squire  stirred  his  cup  with  the  poker,  a  proceed 
ing  apparently  so  usual  that  he  never  thought  of 
apologizing  for  it  as  an  oddity. 

The  Hall  has  a  lodge,  which  is  a  sort  of  minia 
ture  Round  Tower,  at  the  entrance  gate,  and  we 
see  nothing  for  it  but  to  import  a  brass-buttoned 
boy  from  the  nearest  metropolis,  where  we  must 
also  send  for  a  second  maid. 

"  That  '11  do  when  you  get  him,"  objected 
Benella,  "  though  boys  need  a  lot  of  overseeing  ; 
but  as  nobody  can  get  in  or  come  out  o'  that  gate 
without  help,  I  shall  have  to  go  to  the  lodge  every 
day  now,  and  set  down  there  with  my  sewin'  from 
four  to  six  in  the  afternoon,  or  whenever  the  callin' 
hours  is.  When  I  engaged  with  you,  it  was  n't 
for  any  particular  kind  of  work ;  it  was  to  make 
myself  useful.  I  Ve  been  errand  boy  and  courier, 
golf  caddie  and  footman,  beau,  cook,  land  agent, 
and  mother  to  you  all,  and  I  guess  I  can  be  a 
lodge  keeper  as  well  as  not." 

Francesca  had  her  choice  of  residing  either 
with  Salemina  or  with  me,  during  our  week  of  sep 
aration,  and  drove  in  my  company  to  Rosaleen 
Cottage,  to  make  up  her  mind.  While  she  was 
standing  at  my  gate,  engaged  in  reflection,  she 
espied  a  small  cabin  not  far  away,  and  walked 
toward  it  on  a  tour  of  investigation.  It  proved 
to  have  three  tiny  rooms,  —  a  bedroom,  sitting- 
room,  and  kitchen.  The  rent  was  only  two  pounds 


276         Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

a  month,  it  is  true,  but  it  was  in  all  respects  the 
most  unattractive,  poverty-stricken,  undesirable 
dwelling  I  ever  saw.  It  was  the  small  stove  in  the 
kitchen  that  kindled  Francesca's  imagination,  and 
she  made  up  her  mind  instantly  to  become  a  house 
holder  on  her  own  account.  I  tried  to  dissuade 
her  ;  but  she  is  as  firm  as  the  Rock  of  Cashel 
when  once  she  has  set  her  heart  upon  anything. 

"  I  shall  be  almost  your  next-door  neighbor, 
Penelope,"  she  coaxed,  "  and  of  course  you  will 
give  me  Benella.  She  will  sleep  in  the  sitting- 
room,  and  I  will  do  the  cooking.  The  landlady 
says  there  is  no  trouble  about  food.  '  What  to 
ate  ? '  she  inquired,  leaning  out  sociably  over 
the  half-door.  '  Sure  it  '11  drive  up  to  your  very 
doore  jist.'  And  here  is  the  'wee  grass,'  as  she 
calls  it,  where  *  yous  can  take  your  tay  '  under  the 
Japanese  umbrella  left  by  the  last  tenant.  Think 
how  unusual  it  will  be  for  us  to  live  in  three  dif 
ferent  houses  for  a  week  ;  and  *  there  's  luck  in 
odd  numbers,  says  Rory  O'More.'  We  shall 
have  the  advantages  of  good  society,  too,  when 
we  are  living  apart,  for  I  foresee  entertainment 
after  entertainment.  We  will  give  breakfasts, 
luncheons,  teas,  and  dinners  to  one  another ;  and 
meanwhile  I  shall  have  learned  all  the  housewifely 
arts.  Think,  too,  how  much  better  you  can  paint 
with  me  out  of  your  way  !  " 

"  Does  no  thought  of  your  eccentricity  blight 
your  young  spirit,  dear?  " 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences         277 

"  Why  should  it  when  I  have  simply  shaped  my 
course  by  yours  ?  " 

"  But  I  am  married,  my  child." 

"  And  I  'm  '  going  to  be  married,  Aha ! 
Mamma ! '  as  the  song  says ;  and  what  about 
Salemina,  you  have  n't  scolded  her  ? " 

"  She  is  living  her  very  last  days  of  single 
blessedness,"  I  rejoined ;  "  she  does  not  know  it, 
but  she  is ;  and  I  want  to  give  her  all  the  freedom 
possible.  Very  well,  dear  innocent,  live  in  your 
wee  hut,  then,  if  you  can  persuade  Benella  to 
stay  with  you ;  but  I  think  there  would  best  be  no 
public  visiting  between  you  and  those  who  live  in 
Rosaleen  Cottage  and  the  Old  Hall,  as  it  might 
ruin  their  social  position." 

Benella  confessed  that  she  had  not  the  heart 
to  refuse  Francesca  anything.  "  She  's  too  hand 
some,"  she  said,  "  and  too  winnin'.  I  s'pose 
she  '11  cook  up  some  dreadful  messes,  but  I  'm 
willin'  to  eat  'em,  to  oblige  her,  and  perhaps  it  '11 
save  her  husband  a  few  spells  of  dyspepsy  at  the 
start ;  though  as  far  as  my  experience  goes,  minis 
ters  '11  always  eat  anything  that 's  set  before  'em, 
and  look  over  their  shoulders  for  more." 

We  had  a  heavenly  week  of  silliness,  and  by 
dint  of  concealing  our  real  relations  from  the 
general  public  I  fancy  we  escaped  harsh  criti 
cism.  There  is  a  very  large  percentage  of  lunacy 
anyway  in  Ireland,  as  well  as  great  leniency  of 
public  opinion,  and  I  fancy  there  is  scarcely  a 


278         Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

country  on  the  map  in  which  one  could  be  more 
foolish  without  being  found  out.  Visit  each  other 
we  did  constantly,  and  candor  obliges  me  to  state 
that,  though  each  of  us  secretly  prided  herself  on 
the  perfection  of  her  cuisine,  Miss  Monroe  gave 
the  most  successful  afternoon  tea  of  all,  on  the 
"  wee  grass,"  under  the  Japanese  umbrella.  How 
unexpectedly  good  were  her  scones,  her  tea-cakes, 
and  her  cress  sandwiches,  and  how  pretty  and 
graceful  and  womanly  she  was,  all  flushed  with 
pride  at  our  envy  and  approbation  !  I  did  a  wa 
ter  color  sketch  of  her  and  sent  it  to  Ronald, 
receiving  in  return  a  letter  bubbling  over  with  fond 
admiration  and  gratitude.  She  seems  always 
in  tone  with  the  season  and  the  landscape,  does 
Francesca,  and  she  arrives  at  it  unconsciously, 
too.  She  glances  out  of  her  window  at  the  yel 
low  laburnum  tree  when  she  is  putting  on  her 
white  frock,  and  it  suggests  to  her  all  her  amber 
trinkets  and  her  drooping  hat  with  the  wreath  of 
buttercups.  When  she  came  to  my  hawthorn 
luncheon  at  Rosaleen  Cottage  she  did  not  make 
the  mistake  of  heaping  pink  on  pink,  but  wore  a 
cotton  gown  of  palest  green,  with  a  bunch  of  rosy 
blossoms  at  her  belt.  I  painted  her  just  as  she 
stood  under  the  hawthorn,  with  its  fluttering  petals 
and  singing  birds,  calling  the  picture  Grainne 
Mael : 1  A  Vision  of  Erinn,  writing  under  it  the 
verse :  — 

1  Pronounced  Graunia  Wael,  the  M  being  modified.     It  is  one 
of  the  endearing  names  given  to  Ireland  in  the  Penal  Times. 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences         2/9 

"  The  thrushes  seen  in  bushes  green  are  singing  loud  — 
Bid  sadness  go  and  gladness  glow,  —  give  welcome  proud  ! 
The  Rover  comes,  the  Lover,  whom  you  long  bewail, 
O'er  sunny  seas,  with  honey  breeze,  to  Grainne  Mael." 

Benella,  I  fancy,  never  had  so  varied  a  week  in 
her  life,  and  she  was  in  her  element.  We  were 
obliged  to  hire  a  side  car  by  the  day,  as  two  of 
our  residences  were  over  a  mile  apart ;  and  the 
driver  of  that  vehicle  was  the  only  person,  I  think, 
who  had  any  suspicion  of  our  sanity.  In  the 
intervals  of  teaching  Francesca  cooking,  and  eat 
ing  the  results  while  the  cook  herself  prudently 
lunched  or  dined  with  her  friends,  Benella  "  spring- 
cleaned  "  the  lodge  at  the  Old  Hall,  scrubbed  the 
gateposts,  mended  stone  walls,  weeded  garden 
beds,  made  bags  for  the  brooms  and  dusters  and 
mattresses,  burned  coffee  and  camphor  and  other 
ill-smelling  things  in  all  the  rooms,  and  devoted 
considerable  time  to  superintending  my  little 
maid,  that  I  might  not  feel  neglected.  We  were 
naturally  obliged,  meanwhile,  to  wait  upon  our 
selves  and  keep  our  frocks  in  order ;  but  as  long 
as  the  Derelict  was  so  busy  and  happy,  and  so 
devoted  to  the  universal  good,  it  would  have  been 
churlish  and  ungrateful  to  complain. 

On  leaving  the  Wee  Hut,  as  Francesca  had, 
with  ostentatious  modesty,  named  her  residence, 
she  paid  her  landlady  two  pounds,  and  was  dis 
comfited  when  the  exuberant  and  impetuous 
woman  embraced  her  in  a  paroxysm  of  weeping 
gratitude. 


280         Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

"  I  cannot  understand,  Penelope,  why  she  was 
so  disproportionately  grateful,  for  I  only  gave 
her  five  shillings  over  the  two  pounds  rent." 

"Yes,  dear,"  I  responded  dryly;  "but  you  re 
member  that  the  rent  was  for  the  month,  and  you 
paid  her  two  pounds  five  shillings  for  the  week." 

All  the  rest  of  that  day  Francesca  was  angelic. 
She  brought  footstools  for  Salemina,  wound  wool 
for  her,  insisted  upon  washing  my  paint  brushes, 
read  aloud  to  us  while  we  were  working,  and 
offered  to  be  the  one  to  discharge  Benella  if  the 
awful  moment  for  that  surgical  operation  should 
ever  come.  Finally,  just  as  we  were  about  to 
separate  for  the  night,  she  said,  with  insinuating 
sweetness,  "  You  won't  tell  Ronald  about  my 
mistake  with  the  rent  money,  will  you,  dearest  and 
darlingest  girls  ? " 

We  are  now  quite  ready  to  join  in  all  the  gaye- 
ties  that  may  ensue  when  Rosnaree  welcomes  its 
master  and  his  guests.  Our  page  in  buttons  at 
the  lodge  gives  Benella  full  scope  for  her  admin 
istrative  ability,  which  seems  to  have  sprung  into 
being  since  she  entered  our  service ;  at  least,  if  I 
except  that  evidence  of  it  which  she  displayed  in 
managing  us  when  first  we  met.  She  calls  our 
page  "  the  Button  Boy,"  and  makes  his  life  a  bur 
den  to  him  by  taking  him  away  from  his  easy 
duties  at  the  gate,  covering  his  livery  with  baggy 
overalls,  and  setting  him  to  weed  the  garden.  It 
can  never,  in  the  nature  of  things,  be  made  free 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences         281 

from  weeds  during  our  brief  term  of  tenancy,  but 
Benella  cleverly  keeps  her  slave  at  work  on  the 
beds  and  the  walks  that  are  the  most  conspicuous 
to  visitors.  The  Old  Hall  used  simply  to  be  called 
"  Aunt  David's  house  "  by  the  Welsh  Joyces,  and 
it  was  Aunt  David  herself  who  made  the  garden ; 
she  who  traced  the  lines  of  the  flower  beds  with 
the  ivory  tip  of  her  parasol ;  she  who  planned 
the  quaint  stone  gateways  and  arbors  and  hedge 
seats  ;  she  who  devised  the  interminable  stretches 
of  paths,  the  labyrinthine  walks,  the  mazes,  and 
the  hidden  flower  plots.  You  walk  on  and  on 
between  high  hedges,  until,  if  you  have  not  missed 
your  way,  you  presently  find  a  little  pansy  or  rose 
or  lily  garden.  It  is  quite  the  most  unexpected 
and  piquant  method  of  laying  out  a  place  I  have 
ever  seen ;  and  the  only  difficulty  about  it  is  that 
any  gardener,  unless  he  were  possessed  of  un 
usual  sense  of  direction,  would  be  continually 
astray  in  it.  The  Button  Boy,  obeying  the  laws 
of  human  nature,  is  lost  in  two  minutes,  but 
requires  two  hours  in  which  to  find  himself.  Be 
nella  suspects  that  he  prefers  this  wandering  to 
and  fro  to  the  more  monotonous  task  of  weeding, 
and  it  is  no  uncommon  thing  for  her  to  pursue 
the  recalcitrant  page  through  the  mazes  and  laby 
rinths  for  an  hour  at  a  time,  and  perhaps  lose 
herself  in  the  end.  Salemina  and  I  were  sitting 
this  morning  in  the  Peacock  Walk,  where  two 
trees  clipped  into  the  shape  of  long-tailed  birds 


282         Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

mount  guard  over  the  box  hedge,  and  put  their 
beaks  together  to  form  an  arch.  In  the  dim  dis 
tance  we  could  see  Benella  "  bagging  "  the  But 
ton  Boy,  and,  after  putting  the  trowel  and  rake 
in  his  reluctant  hands,  tying  the  free  end  of  a  ball 
of  string  to  his  leg,  and  sending  him  to  find  and 
weed  the  pansy  garden.  We  laughed  until  the 
echoes  rang,  to  see  him  depart,  dragging  his 
lengthening  chain,  or  his  Ariadne  thread,  behind 
him,  while  Benella  grimly  held  the  ball,  deter 
mined  that  no  excuses  or  apologies  should  inter 
fere  with  his  work  on  this  occasion. 


XXVIII 

ROUND     TOWERS   AND    REFLECTIONS 

"  On  Lough  Neagh's  banks,  as  the  fisherman  strays, 

When  the  cool,  calm  eve 's  declining, 
He  sees  the  round  towers  of  other  days 
Beneath  the  waters  shining." 

Thomas  Moore. 

A  DUBLIN  car  driver  told  me,  one  day,  that  he 
had  just  taken  a  picnic  party  to  the  borders  of  a 
lake,  where  they  had  had  tea  in  a  tram  car  which 
had  been  placed  there  for  such  purposes.  Fran- 
cesca  and  I  were  amused  at  the  idea,  but  did 
not  think  of  it  again  until  we  drove  through  the  La 
Touche  estate,  on  one  of  the  first  days  after  our 
arrival  at  Devorgilla.  We  left  Salemina  at  Ros- 
naree  House  with  Aunt  La  Touche  and  the  chil 
dren,  and  proceeded  to  explore  the  grounds,  with 
the  view  of  deciding  on  certain  improvements  to 
be  made  when  the  property  passes,  so  to  speak, 
into  our  hands. 

Truth  to  say,  nature  has  done  more  for  it 
than  we  could  have  done ;  and  if  it  is  a  trifle 
overgrown  and  rough  and  rank,  it  could  hardly 
be  more  beautiful.  At  the  very  farthest  confines 


284         Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

of  the  demesne  there  is  a  brook,  — large  enough, 
indeed,  to  be  called  a  river  here,  where  they  have 
no  Mississippi  to  dwarf  all  other  streams  and 
serve  as  an  impossible  standard  of  comparison. 
Tall  trees  droop  over  the  calm  water,  and  on  its 
margins  grow  spearwort,  opening  its  big  yellow 
cups  to  the  sunshine,  meadow  rue,  purple  and 
yellow  loosestrife,  bog  bean,  and  sweet  flag. 
Here  and  there  float  upon  the  surface  the  round 
leaves  and  delicate  white  blossoms  of  the  frog, 
bit,  together  with  lilies,  pondweeds,  and  water 
starworts. 

"  What  an  idyllic  place  to  sit  and  read,  or  sew, 
or  have  tea  !  "  exclaimed  Francesca. 

"  What  a  place  for  a  tram  tea-house  !  "  I  added. 
"  Do  you  suppose  we  could  manage  it  as  a  sur 
prise  to  Dr.  La  Touche,  in  return  for  all  his  kind 
ness  ? " 

"  It  would  cost  a  pretty  penny,  I  fear,"  said 
Francesca  prudently,  "  though  it  is  n't  as  if  it 
were  going  out  of  the  family.  Now  that  there  is 
no  longer  any  need  for  you  to  sell  pictures,  I  sup 
pose  you  could  dash  off  one  in  an  hour  or  two 
that  would  buy  a  tram  ;  and  papa  cabled  me  yes 
terday,  you  know,  to  draw  on  him  freely.  I  used 
to  think,  whenever  he  said  that,  that  he  would 
marry  again  within  the  week  ;  but  I  did  him  in 
justice.  A  tram  tea-house  by  the  river,  — 
would  n't  it  be  unique  ?  Do  let  us  see  what  we 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences         285 

can  do  about  it  through  some  of  our  Dublin  ac 
quaintances." 

The  plan  proved  unexpectedly  easy  to  carry 
out,  and  not  ruinously  extravagant,  either  ;  for 
our  friend  the  American  consul  knew  the  princi 
pal  director  in  a  tram  company,  and  a  dilapidated 
and  discarded  car  was  sent  to  us  in  a  few  days. 
There  were  certain  moments  —  once  when  we 
saw  that  it  had  not  been  painted  for  twenty  years, 
once  when  the  freight  bill  was  handed  us,  and 
again  when  we  contracted  for  the  removal  of  our 
gift  from  the  station  to  the  river  bank  —  when 
we  regretted  the  fertility  of  imagination  that  had 
led  us  to  these  lengths ;  but  when  we  finally  saw 
the  car  by  the  water  side,  there  was  no  room  left 
for  regret.  Benella  said  that,  with  the  assistance 
of  the  Button  Boy,  she  could  paint  it  easily  her 
self ;  but  we  engaged  an  expert,  who  put  on  a 
coat  of  dark  green  very  speedily,  and  we  con 
soled  the  Derelict  with  the  suggestion  that  she 
cover  the  cushions  and  make  the  interior  cosy 
and  pretty. 

All  this  happened  some  little  time  ago.  Dr. 
La  Touche  has  been  at  home  for  a  fortnight,  and 
we  have  had  to  use  the  greatest  ingenuity  to  keep 
people  away  from  that  particular  spot,  which,  for 
tunately  for  us,  is  a  secluded  one.  All  is  ready 
now,  however,  and  the  following  cards  of  invita 
tion  have  been  issued  :  — 


286         Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

The  honor  of  your  presence 

is  requested  at  the 

Opening  of  the  Neiv  Tea  Tram 

On  the  River  Bank,  Rosnaree  Desmesne, 

Wednesday,  June  zjth,  at  4  p.  m. 

The  ceremony  will  be  performed  by 

H.  R.  H.  Salemina  Peabody. 
The  Bishop  of  Ossory  in  the  Chair. 

I  have  just  learned  that  a  certain  William  Ber- 
esford  was  Bishop  of  Ossory  once  on  a  time,  and 
I  intend  to  personate  this  dignitary,  clad  in  Dr. 
La  Touche's  cap  and  gown.  We  spent  this  sunny 
morning  by  the  river  bank  ;  Francesca  hemming 
the  last  of  the  yellow  window  curtains,  and  I 
making  souvenir  programmes  for  the  great  occa 
sion.  Salemina  had  gone  for  the  day  with  the 
Colquhouns  and  Dr.  La  Touche  to  lunch  with 
some  people  near  Kavan  and  see  Donaghmore 
Round  Tower  and  the  moat. 

"  Is  she  in  love  with  Dr.  Gerald  ?  "  asked  Fran 
cesca  suddenly,  looking  up  from  her  work.  "  Was 
she  ever  in  love  with  him  ?  She  must  have  been, 
must  n't  she  ?  I  cannot  and  will  not  entertain 
any  other  conviction." 

"I  don't  know,  my  dear,"  I  answered  thought 
fully,  pausing  over  an  initial  letter  I  was  illumi 
nating;  "but  I  can't  imagine  what  we  shall  do  if 
we  have  to  tear  down  our  sweet  little  romance, 
bit  by  bit,  and  leave  the  stupid  couple  sitting  in 
the  ruins.  They  enjoy  ruins  far  too  well  al- 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences         287 


ready,  and  it  would  be  just  like  their  obstinacy 
to  go  on  sitting  in  them." 

"  And  they  are  so  incredibly  slow  about  it  all," 
Francesca  commented.  "  It  took  me  about  two 
minutes,  at  Lady  Baird's  dinner  where  I  first  met 
Ronald,  to  decide  that  I  would  marry  him  as 
soon  as  possible.  When  a  month  had  gone  by, 
and  he  had  n't  asked  me,  I  thought,  like  Beatrice, 
that  I  'd  as  lief  be  wooed  of  a  snail." 

"  I  was  not  quite  so  expeditious  as  you,"  I 
confessed,  "  though  I  believe  Himself  says  that 
his  feeling  was  instantaneous.  I  never  cared  for 
anything  but  painting  before  I  met  him,  so  I 
never  chanced  to  suffer  any  of  those  pangs  that 
lovelorn  maidens  are  said  to  feel  when  the  be 
loved  delays  his  avowals  :  perhaps  that  is  the 
reason  I  suffer  so  much  now,  vicariously." 

"  The  lack  of  positive  information  makes  one 
so  impatient,"  Francesca  went  on.  "  I  am  sure 
he  is  as  fond  of  her  as  ever  ;  but  if  she  refused 
him  when  he  was  young  and  handsome,  with 
every  prospect  of  a  brilliant  career  before  him, 
perhaps  he  thinks  he  has  even  less  chance  now. 
He  was  the  first  to  forget  their  romance,  and  the 
one  to  marry  ;  his  estates  have  been  wasted  by 
his  father's  legal  warfares,  and  he  has  been  an 
unhappy  and  a  disappointed  man.  Now  he  has 
to  beg  her  to  heal  his  wounds,  as  it  were,  and  to 
accept  the  care  and  responsibility  of  his  chil 
dren." 


288         Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

"  It  is  very  easy  to  see  that  we  are  not  the 
only  ones  who  suspect  his  sentiments,"  I  said, 
smiling  at  my  thoughts.  "  Mrs.  Colquhoun  told 
me  that  she  and  Salemina  stopped  at  one  of  the 
tenants'  cabins,  the  other  day,  to  leave  some 
small  comforts  that  Dr.  La  Touche  had  sent  to  a 
sick  child.  The  woman  thanked  Salemina,  and 
Mrs.  Colquhoun  heard  her  say,  *  When  a  man 
will  stop,  coming  in  the  doore,  an'  stoop  down  to 
give  a  sthroke  and  a  scratch  to  the  pig's  back, 
depend  on  it,  ma'am,  him  that 's  so  friendly  with 
a  poor  fellow  crathur  will  make  ye  a  good  hus 
band.'  " 

"  I  have  given  him  every  opportunity  to  confide 
in  me,"  I  continued,  after  a  pause,  "  but  he  ac 
cepts  none  of  them  ;  and  yet  I  like  him  a  thou 
sand  times  better  now  that  I  have  seen  him  as  the 
master  of  his  own  house.  He  is  so  courtly,  and, 
in  these  latter  days,  so  genial  and  sunny.  .  .  . 
Salemina's  life  would  not  at  first  be  any  too  easy, 
I  fear ;  the  aunt  is  very  feeble,  and  the  establish 
ment  is  so  neglected.  I  went  into  Dr.  Gerald's 
study  the  other  day  to  see  an  old  print,  and  there 
was  a  buzz-buzz-zzzz  when  the  butler  pulled  up 
the  blinds.  '  Do  you  mind  bees,  ma'am  ? '  he 
asked  blandly.  '  There  's  been  a  swarm  of  them  in 
one  corner  of  the  ceiling  for  manny  years,  an'  we 
don't  like  to  disturb  them.'  .  .  .  Benella  said  yes 
terday  :  '  Of  course,  when  you  three  separate,  I 
shall  stay  with  the  one  that  needs  me  most ;  but  if 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences         289 

Miss  Peabody  should  settle  over  here  anywhere, 
I  'd  like  to  take  a  scrubbing  brush  an'  go  through 
the  castle,  or  whatever  she  's  going  to  live  in,  with 
soap  and  sand  and  ammonia,  and  make  it  water- 
sweet  before  she  sets  foot  in  it.'  ...  As  for  the 
children,  however,  no  one  could  regard  them  as 
a  drawback,  for  they  are  altogether  charming; 
not  well  disciplined,  of  course,  but  lovable  to 
the  last  degree.  Broona  was  planning  her  future 
life  when  we  were  walking  together  yesterday. 
Jackeen  is  to  be  an  '  engineer,  by  the  sea,'  so  it 
seems,  and  Broona  is  to  be  a  farmer's  wife  with  a 
tiny  red  bill-book  like  Mrs.  Colquhoun's.  Her 
little  boys  and  girls  will  sell  the  milk,  and  when 
Jackeen  has  his  engineering  holidays  he  will 
come  and  eat  fresh  butter  and  scones  and  cream 
and  jam  at  the  farm,  and  when  her  children  have 
their  holidays  they  will  go  and1  play  on  '  Jackeen's 
beach.'  It  is  the  little  people  I  rely  upon 
chiefly,  after  all.  I  wish  you  could  have  seen 
them  cataract  down  the  staircase  to  greet  her,  this 
morning.  I  notice  that  she  tries  to  make  me  di 
vert  their  attention  when  Dr.  Gerald  is  present ; 
for  it  is  a  bit  suggestive  to  a  widower  to  see  his 
children  pursue,  hang  about,  and  caress  a  lovely, 
unmarried  lady.  Broona,  especially,  can  hardly 
keep  away  from  Salemina  ;  and  she  is  such  a  fas 
cinating  midget,  I  should  think  anybody  would  be 
glad  to  have  her  included  in  a  marriage  contract. 
'  You  have  a  weeny,  weeny  line  between  your  eye- 


290         Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

brows,  just  like  my  daddy's,'  she  said  to  Salemina 
the  other  day.  '  It 's  such  a  little  one,  perhaps  I 
can  kiss  it  away ;  but  daddy  has  too  many,  and 
they  are  cutted  too  deep.  Sometimes  he  whis 
pers,  "  Daddy  is  sad,  Broona  ; "  and  then  I  say, 
"Play  up,  play  up,  and  play  the  game  !  "  and  that 
makes  him  smile.'  " 

"  She  is  a  darling,"  said  Francesca,  with  the 
suspicion  of  a  tear  in  her  eye.  '  Were  you  ever  in 
love,  Miss  Fancy  ? '  she  asked  me  once.  *  I  was  ; 
it  was  long,  long  ago  before  I  belonged  to  daddy  ; ' 
and  another  time  when  I  had  been  reading  to 
her,  she  said,  '  I  often  think  that  when  I  get  into 
the  kingdom  of  heaven  the  person  I  '11  be  glad 
dest  to  see  will  be  Marjorie  Fleming.'  Yes,  the 
children  are  sure  to  help  ;  they  always  do  in  what 
ever  circumstances  they  chance  to  be  placed.  Did 
you  notice  Salemina  with  them  at  tea  time,  yester 
day  ?  It  was  such  a  charming  scene.  The  heavy 
rain  had  kept  them  in,  and  things  had  gone  wrong 
in  the  nursery.  Salemina  had  glued  the  hair 
on  Broona's  dolly,  and  knit  up  a  heart-breaking 
wound  in  her  side.  Then  she  mended  the  legs 
of  all  the  animals  in  the  Noah's  ark,  so  that  they 
stood  firm,  erect,  and  proud  ;  and  when,  to  draw 
the  children's  eyes  from  the  wet  window-panes, 
she  proposed  a  story,  it  was  pretty  to  see  the  grate 
ful  youngsters  snuggle  in  her  lap  and  by  her 
side." 

"  When  does  an  artist  ever  fail  to  see  pictures  ? 
I  have  loved  Salemina  always,  even  when  she 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences         291 

used  to  part  her  hair  in  the  middle  and  wear 
spectacles  ;  but  that  is  the  first  time  I  ever  wanted 
to  paint  her,  with  the  firelight  shining  on  the  soft 
restful  grays  and  violets  of  her  dress,  and  Broona 
in  her  arms.  Of  course,  if  a  woman  is  ever  to  be 
lovely  at  all,  it  will  be  when  she  is  holding  a  child. 
It  is  the  oldest  of  all  old  pictures,  and  the  most 
beautiful,  I  believe,  in  a  man's  eyes." 

"  And  do  you  notice  that  she  and  the  doctor 
are  beginning  to  speak  more  freely  of  their  past 
acquaintance  ? "  I  went  on,  looking  up  at  Fran- 
cesca,  who  had  dropped  her  work,  in  her  interest. 
u  It  is  too  amusing !  Every  hour  or  two  it  is  : 
'  Do  you  remember  the  day  we  went  to  Bunker 
Hill  ? '  or,  *  Do  you  recall  that  charming  Mrs. 
Andrews,  with  whom  we  used  to  dine  occasion 
ally  ? '  or,  '  What  has  become  of  your  cousin  Sam 
uel  ? '  and,  '  Is  your  uncle  Thomas  yet  living  ? ' 
.  .  .  The  other  day,  at  tea,  she  asked, '  Do  you 
still  take  three  lumps,  Dr.  La  Touche  ?  You  had 
always  a  sweet  tooth,  I  remember.'  .  .  .  Then 
they  ring  the  changes  in  this  way  :  *  You  were  al 
ways  fond  of  gray,  Miss  Peabody.'  *  You  had  a 
great  fancy  for  Moore,  in  the  old  days,  Miss  Pea- 
body  :  have  you  outgrown  him,  or  does  the  "  Ana 
creontic  little  chap,"  as  Father  Prout  called  him, 
still  appeal  to  you  ?'...'  You  used  to  admire 
Boyle  O'Reilly,  Dr.  La  Touche.  Would  you  like 
to  see  some  of  his  letters  ?'...'  Are  n't  these 
magnificent  rhododendrons,  Dr.  La  Touche,  — 
even  though  they  are  magenta,  the  color  you  spe- 


292         Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

cially  dislike  ? '  And  so  on.  Did  you  chance  to 
look  at  either  of  them  last  evening,  Francesca, 
when  I  sang  '  Let  Erin  remember  the  days  of 
old  '  ?  " 

"No;  I  was  thinking  of  something  else.  I 
don't  know  what  there  is  about  your  singing, 
Penny  love,  that  always  makes  me  think  of  the 
past  and  dream  of  the  future.  Which  verse  do 
you  mean  ? " 

And,  still  painting,  I  hummed  :  — 

" '  On  Lough  Neagh's  banks,  as  the  fisherman  strays, 

When  the  cool  calm  eve  's  declining, 
He  sees  the  round  towers  of  other  days 
Beneath  the  waters  shining. 

'  Thus  shall  memory  oft,  in  dreams  sublime, 
Catch  a  glimpse  of  the  days  that  are  over, 
And,  sighing,  look  thro'  the  waves  of  Time, 
For  the  long-faded  glories  they  cover.' 

"  That  is  what  our  two  dear  middle-aged  lovers 
are  constantly  doing  now,  —  looking  at  the  round 
towers  of  other  days,  as  they  bend  over  memory's 
crystal  pool  and  see  them  reflected  there.  It  is 
because  he  fears  that  the  glories  are  over  and  gone 
that  Dr.  Gerald  is  troubled.  Some  day  he  will 
realize  that  he  need  not  live  on  reflections,  and 
he  will  seek  realities." 

"  I  hope  so,"  said  Francesca  philosophically, 
as  she  folded  her  work  ;  "  but  sometimes  these 
people  who  go  mooning  about,  and  looking 
through  the  waves  of  Time,  tumble  in  and  are 
drowned." 


XXIX 

AUNT   DAVID'S  GARDEN 

"  O  wind,  O  mighty,  melancholy  wind, 
Blow  through  me,  blow  ! 

Thou  blowest  forgotten  things  into  my  mind, 
From  long  ago." 

John  Todhunter. 

No  one  ever  had  a  better  opportunity  than  we, 
of  breathing  in,  so  far  as  a  stranger  and  a  foreigner 
may,  the  old  Celtic  atmosphere,  and  of  relieving 
the  misty  years  of  legend  before  the  dawn  of  his 
tory  ;  when 

"  Long,  long  ago,  beyond  the  space 

Of  twice  two  hundred  years, 
In  Erin  old  there  lived  a  race 
Taller  than  Roman  spears." 

Mr.  Colquhoun  is  one  of  the  best  Gaelic 
scholars  in  Ireland,  and  Dr.  Gerald,  though  not 
his  equal  in  knowledge  of  the  language,  has  "  the 
full  of  a  sack  of  stories  "  in  his  head.  According 
to  the  Book  of  Leinster,  a  professional  story-teller 
was  required  to  know  seven  times  fifty  tales,  and 
I  believe  the  doctor  could  easily  pass  this  test. 
It  is  not  easy  to  make  a  good  translation  from 
Irish  to  English,  for  they  tell  us  there  are  no  two 
Aryan  languages  more  opposed  to  each  other  in 


294         Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

spirit  and  idiom.  We  have  heard  little  of  the 
marvelous  old  tongue  until  now,  but  we  are  read 
ing  it  a  bit  under  the  tutelage  of  these  two  inspiring 
masters,  and  I  fancy  it  has  helped  me  as  much  in 
my  understanding  of  Ireland  as  my  tedious  and 
perplexing  worriments  over  political  problems. 

After  all,  how  can  we  know  anything  of  a  na 
tion's  present  or  future  without  some  attempt  to 
revivify  its  past  ?  Just  as,  without  some  slender 
knowledge  of  its  former  culture,  we  must  be  for 
ever  ignorant  of  its  inherited  powers  and  aptitudes. 
The  harp  that  once  through  Tara's  halls  the  soul 
of  music  shed,  now  indeed  hangs  mute  on  Tara's 
walls,  but  for  all  that  its  echoes  still  reverberate 
in  the  listening  ear. 

When  we  sit  together  by  the  river  brink,  on 
sunny  days,  or  on  the  greensward  under  the  yews 
in  our  old  garden,  we  are  always  telling  ancient 
Celtic  romances,  and  planning,  even  acting,  new 
ones.  Francesca's  mind  and  mine  are  poorly 
furnished  with  facts  of  any  sort ;  but  when  the 
kind  scholars  in  our  immediate  neighborhood 
furnish  necessary  information  and  inspiration,  we 
promptly  turn  it  into  dramatic  form,  and  serve  it 
up  before  their  wondering  and  admiring  gaze. 
It  is  ever  our  habit  to  "  make  believe  "  with  the 
children  ;  and  just  as  we  played  ballads  in  Scot 
land  and  plotted  revels  in  the  Glen  at  Rowar- 
dennan,  so  we  instinctively  fall  into  the  habit  of 
thought  and  speech  that  surrounds  us  here. 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences         295 

This  delights  our  grave  and  reverend  signiors, 
and  they  give  themselves  up  to  our  whimsicali 
ties  with  the  most  whole-hearted  zeal.  It  is  days 
since  we  have  spoken  of  one  another  by  those 
names  which  were  given  to  us  in  baptism.  Fran- 
cesca  is  Finola  the  Festive.  Eveleen  Colquhoun 
is  Ethnea.  I  am  the  harper,  Pearla  the  Melodi 
ous.  Miss  Peabody  is  Sheela  the  Skillful  Scribe, 
who  keeps  for  posterity  a  record  of  all  our  antics, 
in  The  Speckled  Book  of  Salemina.  Dr.  Gerald 
is  Borba  the  Proud,  the  Ard-ri  or  overking.  Mr. 
Colquhoun  is  really  called  Dermod,  but  he  would 
have  been  far  too  modest  to  choose  Dermot 
O'Dyna  for  his  Celtic  name,  had  we  not  insisted  ; 
for  this  historic  personage  was  not  only  noble- 
minded,  generous,  of  untarnished  honor,  and  the 
bravest  of  the  brave,  but  he  was  as  handsome  as 
he  was  gallant,  and  so  much  the  idol  of  the  ladies 
that  he  was  sometimes  called  Dermat-na-man,  or 
Dermot  of  the  women. 

Of  course  we  have  a  corps  of  shanachies,  or 
story-tellers,  gleemen,  gossipreds,  leeches,  druids, 
gallowglasses,  bards,  ollaves,  urraghts,  and  bre- 
hons  ;  but  the  children  can  always  be  shifted 
from  one  role  to  another,  and  Benella  and  the 
Button  Boy,  although  they  are  quite  unaware 
of  the  honors  conferred  upon  them,  are  often 
alluded  to  in  our  romances  and  theatrical  pro 
ductions. 

Aunt  David's  garden  is  not  a  half  bad  substi- 


296         Penelope 's  Irish  Experiences 

tute  for  the  old  Moy-Mell,  the  plain  of  pleasure  of 
the  ancient  Irish,  when  once  you  have  the  key  to 
its  treasures.  We  have  made  a  new  and  authori 
tative  survey  of  its  geographical  features  and  com 
piled  a  list  of  its  legendary  landmarks,  which, 
strangely  enough,  seem  to  have  been  absolutely 
unknown  to  Miss  Llewellyn-Joyce. 

In  the  very  centre  is  the  Forradh,  or  Place  of 
Meeting,  and  on  it  is  our  own  Lia  Fail,  Stone  of 
Destiny.  The  one  in  Westminster  Abbey,  carried 
away  from  Scotland  by  Edward  I.,  is  thought  by 
many  scholars  to  be  unauthentic,  and  we  hope 
that  ours  may  prove  to  have  some  historical  value. 
The  only  test  of  a  Stone  of  Destiny,  as  I  under 
stand  it,  is  that  it  shall  "roar  "when  an  Irish 
monarch  is  inaugurated ;  and  that  our  Lia  Fail 
was  silent  when  we  celebrated  this  impressive 
ceremony  reflects  less  upon  its  own  powers,  per 
haps,  than  upon  the  pedigree  of  our  chosen 
Ard-ri. 

The  arbor  under  the  mountain  ash  is  the  Fairy 
Palace  of  the  Quicken  Tree,  and  on  its  walls  is 
suspended  the  Horn  of  Foreknowledge,  which  if 
any  one  looks  on  it  in  the  morning,  fasting,  he 
will  know  in  a  moment  all  things  that  are  to  hap 
pen  during  that  day. 

The  clump  of  willows  is  the  Wood  of  the  Many 
Sallows  (a  willow  tree  is  familiarly  known  as  a 
"  sally  "  in  Ireland).  Do  you  know  Yeats's  song, 
put  to  a  quaint  old  Irish  air  ? 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences         297 

"  Down  by  the  sally  gardens  my  love  and  I  did  meet, 
She  passed  the  sally  gardens  with  little  snow  white  feet. 
She  bid  me  take  love  easy,  as  the  leaves  grow  on  the  tree, 
But  I,  being  young  and  foolish,  with  her  did  not  agree." 

The  summer  house  is  the  Greenan  ;  that  is, 
grianan,  a  bright,  sunny  place.  On  the  arm  of  a 
tree  in  the  Greenan  hangs  something  you  might 
(if  you  are  dull)  mistake  for  a  plaited  garland  of 
rushes  hung  with  pierced  pennies  ;  but  it  really  is 
our  Chain  of  Silence,  a  useful  article  of  bygone 
ages,  which  the  lord  of  a  mansion  shook  when  he 
wished  an  attentive  hearing,  and  which  deserved 
a  better  fate  and  a  longer  survival  than  it  has  met. 
Jackeen's  Irish  terrier  is  Bran,  —  though  she  does 
not  closely  resemble  the  great  Finn's  sweet-voiced, 
gracefully-shaped,  long-snouted  hound  ;  the  cora 
cle  lying  on  the  shore  of  the  little  lough  —  the 
coracle  made  of  skin,  like  the  old  Irish  boats  — 
is  the  Wave-Sweeper ;  and  the  faithful  mare  that 
we  hire  by  the  day  is,  by  your  leave,  Enbarr  of 
the  Flowing  Mane.  No  warrior  was  ever  killed 
on  the  back  of  this  famous  steed,  for  she  was  as 
swift  as  the  clear,  cold  wind  of  spring,  traveling 
with  equal  ease  and  speed  on  land  and  sea,  an' 
may  the  divil  fly  away  wid  me  if  that  same  's  not 
true. 

We  no  longer  find  any  difficulty  in  remember 
ing  all  this  nomenclature,  for  we  are  "  under 
gesa  "  to  use  no  other.  When  you  are  put  under 
gesa  to  reveal  or  to  conceal,  to  defend  or  to 


298         Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

avenge,  it  is  a  sort  of  charm  or  spell ;  also  an 
obligation  of  honor.  Finola  is  under  gesa  not  to 
write  to  Alba  more  than  six  times  a  week  and 
twice  on  Sundays  ;  Sheela  is  bound  by  the  same 
charm  to  give  us  muffins  for  afternoon  tea ;  I  am 
vowed  to  forget  my  husband  when  I  am  relating 
romances,  and  allude  to  myself,  for  dramatic  pur 
poses,  as  a  maiden  princess,  or  a  maiden  of 
enchanting  and  all-conquering  beauty.  And  if 
we  fail  to  abide  by  all  these  laws  of  the  modern 
Dedannans  of  Devorgilla,  which  are  written  in 
The  Speckled  Book  of  Salemina,  we  are  to  pay 
eric-fine.  These  fines  are  collected  with  all  pos 
sible  solemnity,  and  the  children  delight  in  them 
to  such  an  extent  that  occasionally  they  break 
the  law  for  the  joy  of  the  penalty.  If  you  have 
ever  read  The  Fate  of  the  Children  of  Turenn, 
you  remember  that  they  were  to  pay  to  Luga  the 
following  eric-fine  for  the  slaying  of  their  father, 
Kian  :  two  steeds  and  a  chariot,  seven  pigs,  a 
hound  whelp,  a  cooking  spit,  and  three  shouts  on 
a  hill.  This  does  not  at  first  seem  excessive,  if 
Kian  were  a  good  father,  and  sincerely  mourned  ; 
but  when  Luga  began  to  explain  the  hidden 
snares  that  lay  in  the  pathway,  it  is  small  wonder 
that  the  sons  of  Turenn  felt  doubt  of  ever  be 
ing  able  to  pay  it,  and  that  when,  after  sur 
mounting  all  the  previous  obstacles,  they  at  last 
raised  three  feeble  shouts  on  Midkena's  Hill,  they 
immediately  gave  up  the  ghost. 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences         299 

The  story  told  yesterday  by  Sheela  the  Scribe 
was  The  Magic  Thread-Clue,  or  The  Pursuit  of 
the  Gilla  Backer,  Benella  and  the  Button  Boy 
being  the  chief  characters  ;  Finola's  was  The 
Voyage  of  the  Children  of  Corr  the  Swift-Footed 
(the  Ard-ri's  pseudonym  for  American  travelers) ; 
while  mine,  to  be  told  to-morrow,  is  called  The 
Quest  of  the  Fair  Strangers,  or  The  Fairy  Quicken 
Tree  of  Devorgilla. 


XXX 

THE     QUEST     OF     THE     FAIR     STRANGERS,    OR     THE 
FAIRY    QUICKEN    TREE    OF    DEVORGILLA  * 

"  Before  the  King 

The  bards  will  sing, 
And  there  recall  the  stories  all 
That  give  renown  to  Ireland." 

Eighteenth  Centttry  Song, 

Englished  by  George  Sigerson. 


THREE  maidens  once  dwelt  in  a  castle  in  that 
part  of  the  Isle  of  Weeping  known  as  the  cantred 
of  Devorgilla,  or  Devorgilla  of  the  Green  Hill 
Slopes;  and  they  were  baptized  according  to 
druidical  rites  as  Sheela  the  Scribe,  Finola  the 
Festive,  and  Pearla  the  Melodious,  though  by 
the  dwellers  in  that  land  they  were  called  the 

1  It  seems  probable  that  this  tale  records  a  real  incident  which 
took  place  in  Aunt  David's  garden.  Penelope  has  apparently  lis 
tened  with  such  attention  to  the  old  Celtic  romances  as  told  by  the 
Ard-ri  and  Dermot  O'Dyna  that  she  has,  consciously  or  uncon 
sciously,  reproduced  something  of  their  atmosphere  and  phrase 
ology.  The  delightful  surprise  at  the  end  must  have  been  con 
trived  by  Salemina,  when  she,  in  her  character  of  Sheela  the 
Scribe,  gazed  into  the  Horn  of  Foreknowledge  and  learned  the 
events  that  were  to  happen  that  day.  —  K.  D.  W. 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences         301 

Fair  Strangers,  or  the  Children  of  Corr  the  Swift- 
Footed. 

This  cantred  of  Devorgilla  they  acquired  by 
paying  rent  and  tribute  to  the  Wise  Woman  of 
Wales,  who  granted  them  to  fish  in  its  crystal 
streams  and  to  hunt  over  the  green-sided  hills,  to 
roam  through  the  woods  of  yew  trees  and  to 
pluck  the  flowers  of  every  hue  that  were  laughing 
all  over  the  plains. 

Thus  were  they  circumstanced :  Their  palace 
of  abode  was  never  without  three  shouts  in  it, 
—  the  shout  of  the  maidens  brewing  tea,  the 
shout  of  the  guests  drinking  it,  and  the  shout  of 
the  assembled  multitude  playing  at  their  games. 
The  same  house  was  never  without  three  mea 
sures,  —  a  measure  of  magic  malt  for  raising  the 
spirits,  a  measure  of  Attic  salt  for  the  seasoning 
of  tales,  and  a  measure  of  poppy  leaves  to  induce 
sleep  when  the  tales  were  dull. 

And  the  manner  of  their  lives  was  this :  In  the 
cool  of  the  morning  they  gathered  nuts  and  arbu 
tus  apples  and  scarlet  quicken  berries  to  take 
back  with  them  to  Tir-thar-toinn,  the  Country 
beyond  the  Wave ;  for  this  was  the  land  of  their 
birth.  When  the  sun  was  high  in  the  east  they 
went  forth  to  the  chase ;  sometimes  it  was  to 
hunt  the  Ard-ri,  and  at  others  it  was  in  pursuit 
of  Dermot  of  the  Bright  Face.  Then,  after  rest 
ing  awhile  on  their  couches  of  soft  rushes,  they 
would  perform  champion  feats,  or  play  on  their 


302         Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

harps,  or  fish  in  their  clear-flowing  streams  that 
were  swimming  with  salmon. 

The  manner  of  their  fishing  was  this  :  to  cut  a 
long,  straight  sallow-tree  rod,  and  having  fastened 
a  hook  and  one  of  Finola's  hairs  upon  it,  to  put 
a  quicken-tree  berry  upon  the  hook,  and  stand 
on  the  brink  of  the  swift-flowing  river,  whence 
they  drew  out  the  shining-skinned,  silver-sided 
salmon.  These  they  would  straightway  broil 
over  a  little  fire  of  birch  boughs ;  and  they 
needed  with  them  no  other  food  but  the  magical 
loaf  made  by  Toma,  one  of  their  house  servants. 
The  witch  hag  that  dwelt  on  that  hillside  of 
Rosnaree  called  Fan-na-carpat,  or  the  Slope  of 
the  Chariots,  had  cast  a  druidical  spell  over 
Toma,  by  which  she  was  able  to  knead  a  loaf 
that  would  last  twenty  days  and  twenty  nights, 
and  one  mouthful  of  which  would  satisfy  hunger 
for  that  length  of  time.1 

Not  far  from  the  mayden  castle  was  a  certain 
royal  palace,  with  a  glittering  roof,  and  the  name 
of  the  palace  was  Rosnaree.  And  upon  the  level 
green  in  front  of  the  regal  abode,  or  in  the  ban 
queting  halls,  might  always  be  seen  noble  com 
panies  of  knights  and  ladies  bright,  —  some  feast 
ing,  some  playing  at  the  chess,  some  giving  ear 
to  the  music  of  their  own  harps,  some  continually 
shaking  the  Chain  of  Silence,  and  some  listening 
to  the  poems  and  tales  of  heroes  of  the  olden 

1  Fact. 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences         303 

time  that  were  told  by  the  king's  bards  and 
shanachies. 

Now  all  went  happily  with  the  Fair  Strangers 
until  the  crimson  berries  were  ripening  on  the 
quicken  tree  near  the  Fairy  Palace.  For  the 
berries  possessed  secret  virtues  known  only  to  a 
man  of  the  Dedannans,  and  learned  from  him  by 
Sheela  the  Scribe,  who  put  him  under  gesa  not 
to  reveal  the  charm  to  any  one  else.  Whosoever 
ate  of  the  honey-sweet,  scarlet-glowing  fruit  felt  a 
cheerful  flow  of  spirits,  as  if  he  had  tasted  wine 
or  mead,  and  whosoever  ate  a  sufficient  number 
of  them  was  almost  certain  to  grow  younger. 
These  things  were  written  in  The  Speckled  Book 
of  Salemina,  but  in  druidical  ink,  undecipherable 
to  all  eyes  but  those  of  the  Scribe  herself. 

So,  wishing  that  none  should  possess  the  secret 
but  themselves,  the  Fair  Strangers  set  the  Gilla 
Backer  J  to  watch  the  fruit  (putting  him  first 
under  gesa  to  eat  none  of  the  berries  himself, 
since  he  was  already  too  cheerful  and  too  young 
to  be  of  much  service) ;  and  thus,  in  their  ab 
sence  the  magical  tree  was  never  left  alone. 

Nevertheless,  when  Finola  the  Festive  went 
forth  to  the  chase  one  day,  she  found  a  quicken 
berry  glowing  like  a  ruby  in  the  highroad,  and 
Sheela  plucked  a  second  from  under  a  gnarled 
thorn  on  the  Slope  of  the  Chariots,  and  Pe'arla 
discovered  a  third  in  the  curiously-compounded, 
1  Could  be  freely  translated  as  the  Slothful  Button  Boy. 


304         Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

swiftly-satisfying  loaf  of  Toma.  Then  the  Fair 
Strangers  became  very  angry,  and  sent  out  their 
trusty,  fleet-footed  couriers  to  scour  the  land  for 
invaders  ;  for  they  knew  that  none  of  the  Dedan- 
nans  would  take  the  berries,  being  under  gesa 
not  to  do  so.  But  the  couriers  returned,  and 
though  they  were  men  able  to  trace  the  trail  of 
a  fox  through  nine  glens  and  nine  rivers,  they 
could  discover  no  proof  of  the  presence  of  a  for 
eign  foe  in  the  mayden  cantred  of  Devorgilla. 

Then  the  hearts  of  the  Fair  Strangers  were 
filled  with  grief  and  gall,  for  they  distrusted  the 
couriers,  and  having  consulted  the  Ard-ri,  they 
set  forth  themselves  to  find  and  conquer  the  in 
vader  ;  for  the  king  told  them  that  there  was  one 
other  quicken  tree,  more  beautiful  and  more 
magical  than  that  growing  by  the  Fairy  Palace, 
and  that  it  was  set  in  another  part  of  the  bright- 
blooming,  sweet-scented  old  garden,  —  namely,  in 
the  heart  of  the  labyrinthine  maze  of  the  Wise 
Woman  of  Wales  ;  but  as  no  one  of  them,  neither 
the  Gilla  Backer  nor  those  who  pursued  him,  had 
ever,  even  with  the  aid  of  the  Magic  Thread- 
Clue,  reached  the  heart  of  the  maze,  there  was 
no  knowledge  among  them  of  the  second  quicken 
tree.  The  king  also  told  Sheela  the  Scribe,  se 
cretly,  that  one  of  his  knights  had  found  a  money- 
piece  and  a  breviary  in  the  forest  of  Rosnaree ; 
and  the  silver  was  unlike  any  ever  used  in  the 
country  of  the  Dedannans,  and  the  breviary  could 


Penelope 's  Irish  Experiences         305 

belong  only  to  a  pious  Gael  known  as  Loskenn 
of  the  Bare  Knees. 

Now  Sheela  the  Scribe,  having  fasted  from 
midnight  until  dawn,  gazed  upon  the  Horn  of 
Foreknowledge,  and  read  there  that  it  was  wiser 
for  her  to  remain  on  guard  at  the  Fairy  Palace, 
while  her  sisters  explored  the  secret  fastnesses  of 
the  labyrinth. 

When  Finola  was  appareled  to  set  forth  upon 
her  quest,  Pearla  thought  her  the  loveliest  mai 
den  upon  the  ridge  of  the  world,  and  wondered 
whether  she  meant  to  conquer  the  invader  by 
force  of  arms  or  by  the  power  of  beauty. 

The  rose  and  the  lily  were  fighting  together  in 
her  face,  and  one  could  not  tell  which  of  them 
got  the  victory.  Her  arms  and  hands  were  like 
the  lime,  her  mouth  was  as  red  as  a  ripe  straw 
berry,  her  foot  as  small  and  as  light  as  another 
one's  hand,  her  form  smooth  and  slender,  and 
her  hair  falling  down  from  her  head  under  combs 
of  gold.1  One  could  not  look  at  her  without  be 
ing  "  all  over  in  love  with  her,"  as  Oisin  said  at 
his  first  meeting  with  Niam  of  the  Golden  Hair. 
And  as  for  Pearla,  the  rose  on  her  cheeks  was 
heightened  by  her  rage  against  the  invader,  the 
delicate  blossom  of  the  sloe  was  not  whiter  than 
her  neck,  and  her  glossy  chestnut  ringlets  fell  to 
her  waist. 

Then  the  Gilla  Backer   unleashed  Bran,  the 

1  Description  of  the  Princess  in  Guleesh  na  Guss  Dhu. 


306         Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

keen-scented  terrier  hound,  and  put  a  pearl-em 
broidered  pillion  on  Enbarr  of  the  Flowing  Mane, 
and  the  two  dauntless  maidens  leaped  upon  her 
back,  each  bearing  a  broad  shield  and  a  long, 
polished,  death-dealing  spear.  When  Enbarr  had 
been  given  a  free  rein  she  set  out  for  the  labyrinth, 
trailing  the  Magic  Thread-Clue  behind  her,  cleav 
ing  the  air  with  long,  active  strides ;  and  if  you 
know  what  the  speed  of  a  swallow  is,  flying  across 
a  mountain  side,  or  the  dry  wind  of  a  March  day 
sweeping  over  the  plains,  then  you  can  understand 
nothing  of  the  swiftness  of  this  steed  of  the  flow 
ing  mane,  acquired  by  the  day  by  the  maydens  of 
Devorgilla. 

Many  were  the  dangers  that  beset  the  path  of 
these  two  noble  champions  on  their  quest  for  the 
Fairy  Quicken  Tree.  Here  they  met  an  enor 
mous  wild  stoat,  but  this  was  slain  by  the  intrepid 
Bran,  and  they  buried  its  bleeding  corse  and  raised 
a  cairn  over  it,  with  the  name  "  Stoat "  graven  on 
it  in  Ogam ;  there  a  druidical  fairy  mist  sprang 
up  in  their  path  to  hide  the  way,  but  they  pierced 
it  with  a  note  of  their  far-reaching,  clarion-toned 
voices,  —  an  art  learned  in  their  native  land  be 
yond  the  wave. 

Now  the  dog  Bran,  being  anhungered,  and  re 
fusing  to  eat  of  Toma's  loaf,  as  all  did  who  were 
ignorant  of  its  druidical  purpose,  fell  upon  the 
Magic  Thread-Clue  and  tore  it  in  twain.  This 
so  greatly  affrighted  the  champions  that  they 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences         307 

sounded  the  Dord-Fian  slowly  and  plaintively, 
hoping  that  the  war  cry  might  bring  Sheela  to 
their  rescue.  This  availing  nothing,  Finola  was 
forced  to  slay  Bran  with  her  straight-sided,  silver- 
shining  spear ;  but  this  she  felt  he  would  not 
mind  if  he  could  know  that  he  would  share  the 
splendid  fate  of  the  stoat,  and  speedily  have  a 
cairn  raised  over  him,  with  the  word  "  Bran  " 
graven  upon  it  in  Ogam,  —  since  this  is  the  con 
solation  offered  by  the  victorious  living  to  all 
dead  Celtic  heroes  ;  and  if  it  be  a  poor  substitute 
for  life,  it  is  at  least  better  than  nothing. 

It  was  now  many  hours  after  noon,  and  though, 
to  the  Fair  Strangers,  it  seemed  they  had  traveled 
more  than  forty  or  a  hundred  miles,  they  were 
apparently  no  nearer  than  ever  to  the  heart  of  the 
labyrinth  :  and  this  from  the  first  had  been  the 
pestiferous  peculiarity  of  that  malignantly  mean 
dering  maze.  So  they  dismounted,  and  tied 
Enbarr  to  the  branch  of  a  tree,  while  they  re 
freshed  themselves  with  a  mouthful  of  Toma's 
loaf ;  and  Finola  now  put  her  thumb  under  her 
"  tooth  of  knowledge,"  for  she  wished  new  guid 
ance  and  inspiration,  and,  being  more  than  com 
mon  modest,  she  said :  "  Inasmuch  as  we  are 
fairer  than  all  the  other  maydens  in  this  labyrinth, 
why,  since  we  cannot  find  the  heart  of  the  maze, 
do  we  not  entice  the  invaders  from  their  hiding 
place  by  the  quicken  tree  ;  and  when  we  see  from 
what  direction  they  advance,  fall  upon  and  slay 


308         Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

them;  and  after  raising  the  usual  cairn  to  their 
memory,  and  carving  their  names  over  it  in  the 
customary  Ogam,  run  to  the  enchanted  tree  and 
gather  all  the  berries  that  are  left  ?  For  this  is 
the  hour  when  Sheela  brews  the  tea,  and  the 
knights  and  the  ladies  quaff  it  from  our  golden 
cups  ;  and  truly  I  am  weary  of  this  quest,  and  far 
rather  would  I  be  there  than  here." 

So  Pearla  the  Melodious  took  her  timpan,1  and 
chanted  a  Gaelic  song  that  she  had  learned  in  the 
country  of  the  Dedannans  ;  and  presently  a  round- 
polished,  red-gleaming  quicken  berry  dropped 
into  her  lap,  and  another  into  Finola's,  and,  look 
ing  up,  they  saw  naught  save  only  a  cloud  of 
quicken  berries  falling  through  the  air  one  after 
the  other.  And  this  caused  them  to  wonder,  for 
it  seemed  like  unto  a  snare  set  for  them  ;  but 
Pearla  said,  "  There  is  naught  remaining  for  us 
but  to  meet  the  danger." 

"  It  is  well,"  replied  Finola,  shaking  down  the 
mantle  of  her  ebon  locks,  and  setting  the  golden 
combs  more  firmly  in  them ;  "  only,  if  I  perish,  I 
prithee  let  there  be  no  cairns  or  Ogams.  Let 
me  fall,  as  a  beauty  should,  face  upward ;  and  if 
it  be  but  a  swoon,  and  the  invader  be  a  hand 
some  prince,  see  that  he  wakens  me  in  his  own 
good  way." 

"  To  arms,  then  !  "  cried   Pe'arla,  and,  taking 

1  An  ancient  Irish  instrument ;  not  to  be  confounded  with  tin 
pan. 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences         309 

up  their  spears  and  shields,  the  Fair  Strangers 
dashed  blindly  in  the  direction  whence  the  ber 
ries  fell. 

"  To  arms  indeed,  but  to  yours  or  ours  ?  "  called 
two  voices  from  the  heart  of  the  lab)irinth  ;  and 
there,  in  an  instant,  the  two  brave  champions, 
Finola  and  Pearla,  found  the  Fairy  Tree  hanging 
thick  with  scarlet  berries,  and  under  its  branches, 
fit  fruit  indeed  to  raise  the  spirits  or  bring  eter 
nal  youth,  were,  in  the  language  of  the  Dedan- 
nans,  Loskenn  of  the  Bare  Knees  and  the  Bishop 
of  Ossory, —  known  to  the  children  of  Corr  the 
Swift-Footed  as  Ronald  Macdonald  and  Himself  ! 

And  the  hours  ran  on  ;  and  Sheela  the  Scribe 
brewed  and  brewed  and  brewed  and  brewed  the 
tea  at  her  table  in  the  Peacock  Walk,  and  the 
knights  and  ladies  quaffed  it  from  the  golden 
cups  belonging  to  the  Wise  Woman  of  Wales  ; 
but  Finola  the  Festive  and  Pearla  the  Melodious 
lingered  in  the  labyrinth  with  Loskenn  of  the 
Bare  Knees  and  the  Bishop  of  Ossory.  And  they 
said  to  one  another,  "  Surely,  if  it  were  so  great 
a  task  to  find  the  heart  of  this  maze,  we  should 
be  mad  to  stir  from  the  spot,  lest  we  lose  it 
again." 

And  Pearla  murmured,  "  That  plan  were  wise 
indeed,  save  that  the  place  seemeth  all  too  small 
for  so  many." 

Then  Finola  drew  herself  up  proudly,  and  re 
plied,  "  It  is  no  smaller  for  one  than  for  another; 


3IO         Penelopes  Irish  Experiences 

but  come,  Loskenn,  let  us  see  if  haply  we  can 
lose  ourselves  in  some  path  of  our  own  finding." 
And  this  they  did;  and  the  content  of  them 
that  departed  was  no  greater  than  the  content 
of  them  that  were  left  behind,  and  the  sun  hid 
himself  for  very  shame  because  the  brightness  of 
their  joy  was  so  much  more  dazzling  than  the 
glory  of  his  own  face.  And  nothing  more  is  told 
of  what  befell  them  till  they  reached  the  threshold 
of  the  Old  Hall ;  and  it  was  not  the  sun,  but  the 
moon  that  shone  upon  their  meeting  with  Sheela 
the  Scribe. 


XXXI 

GOOD-BY,    DARK    ROSALEEN  ! 

"  When  the  poor  exiles,  every  pleasure  past, 
Hung  round  the  bowers,  and  fondly  looked  their  last, 
And  took  a  long  farewell,  and  wished  in  vain 
For  seats  like  these  beyond  the  western  main, 
And  shuddering  still  to  face  the  distant  deep. 
Returned  and  wept,  and  still  returned  to  weep." 

Oliver  Goldsmith. 

IT  is  almost  over,  our  Irish  holiday,  so  full  of  de 
licious,  fruitful  experiences  ;  of  pleasures  we  have 
made  and  shared,  and  of  other  people's  miseries 
and  hardships  we  could  not  relieve.  Almost  over  ! 
Soon  we  shall  all  be  in  Dublin,  and  then  on  to 
London  to  meet  Francesca's  father  ;  soon  be  de 
ciding  whether  she  will  be  married  at  the  house  of 
their  friend  the  American  ambassador,  or  in  her 
.own  country,  where  she  has  really  had  no  home 
since  the  death  of  her  mother. 

The  ceremony  over,  Mr.  Monroe  will  start 
again  for  Cairo  or  Constantinople,  Stockholm  or 
St.  Petersburg ;  for  he  is  of  late  years  a  deter 
mined  wanderer,  whose  fatherly  affection  is  chiefly 
shown  in  liberal  allowances,  in  pride  of  his 
daughter's  beauty  and  many  conquests,  in  con 
scientious  letter-writing,  and  in  frequent  calls 


312         Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

upon  her  between  his  long  journeys.  It  is  be 
cause  of  these  paternal  predilections  that  we  are 
so  glad  Francesca's  heart  has  resisted  all  the  shot 
and  shell  directed  against  it  from  the  batteries 
of  a  dozen  gay  worldlings  and  yielded  so  quietly 
and  so  completely  to  Ronald  Macdonald's  loyal 
and  tender  affection. 

At  tea  time  day  before  yesterday,  Salemina  sug 
gested  that  Francesca  and  I  find  the  heart  of 
Aunt  David's  labyrinth,  the  which  she  had  dis 
covered  in  a  less  than  ten  minutes'  search  that 
morning,  leaving  her  Gaelic  primer  behind  her 
that  we  might  bring  it  back  as  a  proof  of  our  suc 
cess.  You  have  heard  in  Pearla's  Celtic  fairy 
tale  the  outcome  of  this  little  expedition,  and 
now  know  that  Ronald  Macdonald  and  Himself 
planned  the  joyful  surprise  for  us,  and  by  means 
of  Salemina's  aid  carried  it  out  triumphantly. 

Ronald  crossing  to  Ireland  from  Glasgow,  and 
Himself  from  Liverpool,  had  met  in  Dublin,  and 
traveled  posthaste  to  the  Shamrock  Inn  in  Dev- 
orgilla,  where  they  communicated  with  Salemina 
and  begged  her  assistance  in  their  plot. 

I  was  looking  forward  to  my  husband's  arrival 
within  a  week,  but  Ronald  had  said  not  a  word 
of  his  intended  visit ;  so  that  Salemina  was  pro 
perly  nervous  lest  some  one  of  us  should  collapse 
out  of  sheer  joy  at  the  unexpected  meeting. 

I  have  been  both  quietly  and  wildly  happy 
many  times  in  my  life,  but  I  think  yesterday  was 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences         313 

the  most  perfect  day  in  all  my  chain  of  years. 
Not  that  in  this  long  separation  I  have  been  dull, 
or  sad,  or  lonely.  How  could  I  be  ?  Dull,  with 
two  dear,  bright,  sunny  letters  every  week,  letters 
throbbing  with  manly  tenderness,  letters  breath 
ing  the  sure,  steadfast,  protecting  care  that  a 
strong  man  gives  to  the  woman  he  has  chosen  ! 
Sad,  with  my  heart  brimming  over  with  sweet 
memories  and  sweeter  prophecies,  and  all  its  tiny 
crevices  so  filled  with  love  that  discontent  can 
find  no  entrance  there  !  Lonely,  when  the  vision 
of  the  beloved  is  so  poignantly  real  in  absence 
that  his  bodily  presence  adds  only  a  final  touch 
to  joy !  Dull,  or  sad,  when  in  these  soft  days  of 
spring  and  early  summer  I  have  harbored  a  new 
feeling  of  companionship  and  oneness  with  Na 
ture,  a  fresh  joy  in  all  her  bounteous  resource 
and  plenitude  of  life,  a  renewed  sense  of  kinship 
with  her  mysterious  awakenings  !  The  heavenly 
greenness  and  promise  of  the  outer  world  seem 
but  a  reflection  of  the  hopes  and  dreams  that  ir 
radiate  my  own  inner  consciousness. 

My  art,  dearly  as  I  loved  it,  dearly  as  I  love  it 
still,  never  gave  me  these  strange,  unspeakable 
joys  with  their  delicate  margin  of  pain.  Where 
are  my  ambitions,  my  visions  of  lonely  triumphs, 
my  imperative  need  of  self-expression,  my  enno 
bling  glimpses  of  the  unattainable,  my  compan 
ionship  with  the  shadows  in  which  an  artist's  life 
is  so  rich  ?  Are  they  vanished  altogether  ?  I 


314         Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

think  not ;  only  changed  in  the  twinkling  of  an 
eye,  merged  in  something  higher  still,  carried 
over,  linked  on,  transformed,  transmuted,  by 
Love  the  alchemist,  who,  not  content  with  joys 
already  bestowed,  whispers  secret  promises  of 
raptures  yet  to  come. 

The  green  isle  looked  its  fairest  for  our  wan 
derers.  Just  as  a  woman  adorns  herself  with  all 
her  jewels  when  she  wishes  to  startle  or  enthrall, 
wishes  to  make  a  lover  of  a  friend,  so  Devorgilla 
arrayed  herself  to  conquer  these  two  pairs  of 
fresh  eyes,  and  command  their  instant  allegiance. 

It  was  a  tender,  silvery  day,  fair,  mild,  pensive, 
with  light  shadows  and  a  capricious  sun.  There 
had  been  a  storm  of  rain  the  night  before,  and  it 
was  as  if  Nature  had  repented  of  her  wildness, 
and  sought  forgiveness  by  all  sorts  of  winsome 
arts,  insinuating  invitations,  soft  caresses,  and 
melting  coquetries  of  demeanor. 

Broona  and  Jackeen  had  lunched  with  us  at 
the  Old  Hall,  and,  inebriated  by  broiled  chicken, 
green  peas,  and  a  half  holiday,  flitted  like  fireflies 
through  Aunt  David's  garden,  showing  all  its 
treasures  to  the  two  new  friends,  already  high  in 
favor. 

Benella,  it  is  unnecessary  to  say,  had  confided 
her  entire  past  life  to  Himself  after  a  few  hours' 
acquaintance,  while  both  he  and  Ronald,  conceal 
ing  in  the  most  craven  manner  their  original  ob 
jections  to  the  part  she  proposed  to  play  in  our 


Penelopes  Irish  Experiences         315 

triangular  alliance,  thanked  her,  with  tears  in 
their  eyes,  for  her  devotion  to  their  sovereign 
ladies. 

We  had  tea  in  the  Italian  garden  at  Rosnaree, 
and  Dr.  Gerald,  arm  in  arm  with  Himself,  walked 
between  its  formal  flower  borders,  along  its  paths 
of  golden  gravel,  and  among  its  spirelike  cy 
presses  and  fountains,  where  balustrades  and 
statues,  yellowed  and  stained  with  age  (stains 
which  Benella  longs  to  scrub  away),  make  the 
brilliant  turf  even  greener  by  contrast. 

Tea  was  to  have  been  followed  in  due  course 
by  dinner,  but  we  all  agreed  that  nothing  should 
induce  us  to  go  indoors  on  such  a  beautiful  even 
ing;  so  baskets  were  packed,  and  we  went  in 
rowboats  to  a  picnic  supper  on  Illanroe,  a  wee 
island  in  Lough  Beg. 

I  can  close  my  eyes  to-day  and  see  the  picture, 
—  the  lonely  little  lake,  as  blue  in  the  sunshine 
as  the  sky  above  it,  but  in  the  twilight  first  brown 
and  cool,  then  flushed  with  the  sunset.  The  dis 
tant  hills,  the  rocks,  the  heather,  wore  tints  I 
never  saw  them  wear  before.  The  singing  wave 
lets  "  spilled  their  crowns  of  white  upon  the 
beach  "  across  the  lake,  and  the  wild  flowers  in 
the  clear  shallows  near  us  grew  so  close  to  the 
brink  that  they  threw  their  delicate  reflections  in 
the  water,  looking  up  at  us  again  framed  in  red- 
brown  grasses. 

By  and  by  the  moon  rose  out  of  the  pearl  grays 


316         Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

and  ambers  in  the  east,  bevies  of  black  rooks  flew 
homeward,  and  stillness  settled  over  the  face  of 
the  brown  lake.  Darkness  shut  us  out  from  Dev- 
orgilla  ;  and  though  we  could  still  see  the  glim 
mer  of  the  village  lights,  it  seemed  as  if  we  were 
in  a  little  world  of  our  own. 

It  was  useless  for  Salemina  to  deny  herself  to 
the  children,  for  was  she  not  going  to  leave  them 
on  the  morrow  ?  She  sat  under  the  shadow  of  a 
thorn  bush,  and  the  two  mites,  tired  with  play, 
cuddled  themselves  by  her  side,  unreproved. 
She  looked  tenderly,  delectably  feminine.  The 
moon  shone  full  upon  her  face ;  but  there  are  no 
ugly  lines  to  hide,  for  there  are  no  parched  and 
arid  places  in  her  nature.  Dews  of  sympathy, 
sweet  spring  floods  of  love  and  compassion,  have 
kept  all  fresh,  serene,  and  young. 

•We  had  been  gay,  but  silence  fell  upon  us  as  it 
had  fallen  upon  the  lake.  There  would  be  only 
a  day  or  two  in  Dublin,  whither  Dr.  Gerald  was 
going  with  us,  that  he  might  have  the  last  word 
and  hand  clasp  before  we  sailed  away  from  Irish 
shores  ;  and  so  near  was  the  parting  that  we  were 
all,  in  our  hearts,  bidding  farewell  to  the  Emerald 
Isle. 

Good-by,  Silk  of  the  Kine  !  I  was  saying  to 
myself,  calling  the  friendly  spot  by  one  of  the 
endearing  names  given  her  by  her  lovers  in  the 
sad  old  days.  Good-by,  Little  Black  Rose,  grow 
ing  on  the  stern  Atlantic  shore  !  Good-by,  Rose 


Penelopes  Irish  Experiences         317 

of  the  World,  with  your  jewels  of  emerald  and 
amethyst,  the  green  of  your  fields  and  the  misty 
purple  of  your  hills  !  Good-by,  Shan  Van  Vocht, 
Poor  Little  Old  Woman  !  We  are  going  back, 
Himself  and  I,  to  the  Oilcan  Ur,  as  you  used  to 
call  our  new  island,  —  going  back  to  the  hurly- 
burly  of  affairs,  to  prosperity  and  opportunity ; 
but  we  shall  not  forget  the  lovely  Lady  of  Sor 
rows  looking  out  to  the  west  with  the  pain  of  a 
thousand  years  in  her  ever  youthful  eyes.  Good- 
by,  my  Dark  Rosaleen,  good-by  ! 


XXXII 

"AS    THE   SUNFLOWER   TURNS " 

"  No,  the  heart  that  has  truly  lov'd  never  forgets, 

But  as  truly  loves  on  to  the  close, 
As  the  sunflower  turns  on  her  god,  when  he  sets, 
The  same  look  which  she  turn'd  when  he  rose." 

Thomas  Moore. 

HERE  we  all  are  at  O'Carolan's  Hotel  in  Dub 
lin,  —  all  but  the  Colquhouns,  who  bade  us  adieu 
at  the  station,  and  the  dear  children,  whose  tears 
are  probably  dried  by  now,  although  they  flowed 
freely  enough  at  parting.  Broona  flung  her  arms 
tempestuously  around  Salemina's  neck,  exclaim 
ing  between  her  sobs,  "  Good-by,  my  thousand, 
thousand  blessings  !  "  —  an  expression  so  Irish 
that  we  laughed  and  cried  in  one  breath  at  the 
sound  of  it. 

Here  we  are  in  the  midst  of  life  once  more, 
though  to  be  sure  it  is  Irish  life,  which  moves 
less  dizzily  than  our  own.  We  ourselves  feel 
thoroughly  at  home,  nor  are  we  wholly  forgot 
ten  by  the  public  ;  for  on  beckoning  to  a  driver  on 
the  cab  stand  to  approach  with  his  side  car,  he 
responded  with  alacrity,  calling  to  his  neighbor, 
"  Here  's  me  sixpenny  darlin'  again  !  "  and  I  re- 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences         319 

cognized  him  immediately  as  a  man  who  had 
once  remonstrated  with  me  eloquently  on  the 
subject  of  a  fee,  making  such  a  fire  of  Hibernian 
jokes  over  my  sixpence  that  I  heartily  wished  it 
had  been  a  half  sovereign. 

Cables  and  telegrams  are  arriving  every  hour, 
and  a  rich  American  lady  writes  to  Salemina,  ask 
ing  her  if  she  can  purchase  the  Book  of  Kells  for 
her,  as  she  wishes  to  give  it  to  a  favorite  nephew 
who  is  a  bibliomaniac.  I  am  begging  the  shocked 
Miss  Peabody  to  explain  that  the  volume  in  ques 
tion  is  not  for  sale,  and  to  ask  at  the  same  time 
if  her  correspondent  wishes  to  purchase  the 
Lakes  of  Killarney  or  the  Giant's  Causeway  in 
its  stead.  Francesca,  in  a  whirl  of  excitement, 
is  buying  cobweb  linens,  harp  brooches,  creamy 
poplins  with  golden  shamrocks  woven  into  their 
lustrous  surfaces ;  and  as  for  laces,  we  spend 
hours  in  the  shops,  when  our  respective  squires 
wish  us  to  show  them  the  sights  of  Dublin. 

Benella  is  in  her  element,  nursing  Salemina, 
who  sprained  her  ankle  just  as  we  were  leaving 
Devorgilla.  At  the  last  moment  our  side  cars  were1 
so  crowded  with  passengers  and  packages  that 
she  accepted  a  seat  in  Dr.  Gerald's  carriage,  and 
drove  to  the  station  with  him.  She  had  a  few 
last  farewells  to  say  in  the  village,  and  a  few  mod 
est  remembrances  to  leave  with  some  of  the  poor 
old  women  ;  and  I  afterward  learned  that  the  drive 
was  not  without  its  embarrassments.  The  butch- 


320         Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

er's  wife  said  fervently,  "  May  you  long  be  spared 
to  each  other !  "  The  old  weaver  exclaimed, 
" 'T  would  be  an  ojus  pity  to  spoil  two  houses 
wid  ye  !  "  While  the  woman  who  sells  apples  at 
the  station  capped  all  by  wishing  the  couple  "  a 
long  life  and  a  happy  death  together."  No  won 
der  poor  Salemina  slipped  and  twisted  her  ankle, 
as  she  alighted  from  the  carriage  !  Though  walk 
ing  without  help  is  still  an  impossibility,  twenty- 
four  hours  of  rubbing  and  bathing  and  bandaging 
have  made  it  possible  for  her  to  limp  discreetly, 
and  we  all  went  to  St.  Patrick's  Cathedral  to 
gether  this  morning. 

We  had  been  in  the  quiet  churchyard,  where  a 
soft  misty  rain  was  falling  on  the  yellow  acacias 
and  the  pink  hawthorns.  We  had  stood  under 
the  willow  tree  in  the  deanery  garden,  —  the  tree 
that  marks  the  site  of  the  house  from  which  Dean 
Swift  watched  the  movements  of  the  torches  in 
the  cathedral  at  the  midnight  burial  of  Stella. 
They  are  lying  side  by  side  at  the  foot  of  a  col 
umn  in  the  south  side  of  the  nave,  and  a  brass 
'plate  in  the  pavement  announces  :  — 

"  Here  lies  Mrs.  Hester  Johnson,  better  known 
to  the  world  by  the  name  of  Stella,  under  which 
she  is  celebrated  in  the  writings  of  Dr.  Jonathan 
Swift,  Dean  of  this  Cathedral." 

Poor  Stella,  at  rest  for  a  century  and  a  half 
beside  the  man  who  caused  her  such  pangs  of 
love  and  grief,  —  who  does  not  mourn  her  ? 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences         321 

The  nave  of  the  cathedral  was  dim,  and  empty 
of  all  sight-seers  save  our  own  group.  There  was 
a  caretaker  who  went  about  in  sloppy  rubber 
shoes,  scrubbing  marbles  and  polishing  brasses, 
and  behind  a  high  screen  or  temporary  partition 
some  one  was  playing  softly  on  an  organ. 

We  stood  in  a  quiet  circle  by  Stella's  resting 
place,  and  Dr.  Gerald,  who  never  forgets  anything, 
apparently,  was  reminding  us  of  Thackeray's 
gracious  and  pathetic  tribute  :  — 

"  Fair  and  tender  creature,  pure  and  affectionate 
heart !  Boots  it  to  you  now  that  the  whole  world 
loves  you  and  deplores  you  ?  Scarce  any  man 
ever  thought  of  your  grave  that  did  not  cast  a 
flower  of  pity  on  it,  and  write  over  it  a  sweet 
epitaph.  Gentle  lady !  so  lovely,  so  loving,  so 
unhappy.  You  have  had  countless  champions, 
millions  of  manly  hearts  mourning  for  you.  From 
generation  to  generation  we  take  up  the  fond 
tradition  of  your  beauty  ;  we  watch  and  follow 
your  story,  your  bright  morning  love  and  purity, 
your  constancy,  your  grief,  your  sweet  martyrdom. 
We  know  your  legend  by  heart.  You  are  one  of 
the  saints  of  English  story." 

As  Dr.  Gerald's  voice  died  away,  the  strains  of 
Love's  Young  Dream  floated  out  from  the  distant 
end  of  the  building. 

"  The  organist  must  be  practicing  for  a  wed 
ding,"  said  Francesca,  very  much  alive  to  any 
thing  of  that  sort. 


322         Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

"  '  Oh,  there  's  nothing  half  so  sweet  in  life,'  " 

she  hummed.     "Is  n't  it  charming?  " 

"  You  ought  to  know,"  Dr.  Gerald  answered, 
looking  at  her  affectionately,  though  somewhat 
too  sadly  for  my  taste ;  "  but  an  old  fellow  like 
me  must  take  refuge  in  the  days  of  'milder, 
calmer  beam,'  of  which  the  poet  speaks." 

Ronald  and  Himself,  guide-books  in  hand, 
walked  away  to  talk  about  The  Burial  of  Sir  John 
Moore,  and  look  for  Wolfe's  tablet,  and  I  stole 
behind  the  great  screen  which  had  been  thrown 
up  while  repairs  of  some  sort  were  being  made 
or  a  new  organ  built.  A  young  man  was  evi 
dently  taking  a  lesson,  for  the  old  organist  was 
sitting  on  the  bench  beside  him,  pulling  out  the 
stops,  and  indicating  the  time  with  his  hand. 
There  was  to  be  a  wedding,  —  that  was  certain  ; 
for  Love's  Young  Dream  was  taken  off  the  music 
rack,  at  that  moment,  while  "  Believe  me,  if  all 
those  endearing  young  charms  "  was  put  in  its 
place,  and  the  melody  came  singing  out  to  us  on 
the  vox  humana  stop. 

"  Thou  wouldst  still  be  adored,  as  this  moment  thou  art, 

Let  thy  loveliness  fade  as  it  will, 
And  around  the  dear  ruin  each  wish  of  my  heart 
Would  entwine  itself  verdantly  still." 

Francesca  joined  me  just  then,  and  a  tear  was 
in  her  eye.  "  Penny  dear,  when  all  is  said,  '  Be 
lieve  me  '  is  the  dearer  song  of  the  two.  Any 
body  can  sing,  feel,  live,  the  first,  which  is  but  a 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences         323 

youthful  dream,  after  all ;  but  the  other  has  in  it 
the  proved  fidelity  of  the  years.  The  first  song 
belongs  to  me,  I  know,  and  it  is  all  I  am  fit  for 
now ;  but  I  want  to  grow  toward  and  deserve  the 
second." 

"  You  are  right ;  but  while  Love's  Young 
Dream  is  yours  and  Ronald's,  dear,  take  all  the 
joy  that  it  holds  for  you.  The  other  song  is  for 
Salemina  and  Dr.  Gerald,  and  I  only  hope  they 
are  realizing  it  at  this  moment,  —  secretive,  pro 
voking  creatures  that  they  are  !  " 

The  old  organist  left  his  pupil  just  then,  and 
disappeared  through  a  little  door  in  the  rear. 

"  Have  you  The  Wedding  March  there  ? "  I 
asked  the  pupil  who  had  been  practicing  the 
love  songs. 

"  Oh  yes,  madam,  though  I  am  afraid  I  cannot 
do  it  justice,"  he  replied  modestly.  "Are  you 
interested  in  organ  music  ?  " 

"  I  am  very  much  interested  in  yours,  and  I  am 
still  more  interested  in  a  romance  that  has  been 
dragging  its  weary  length  along  for  twenty  years, 
and  is  trying  to  bring  itself  to  a  crisis  just  on  the 
other  side  of  that  screen.  You  can  help  me  pre 
cipitate  it,  if  you  only  will !  " 

Well,  he  was  young  and  he  was  an  Irishman, 
which  is  equivalent  to  being  a  born  lover,  and  he 
had  been  brought  up  on  Tommy  Moore  and  music, 
—  all  of  which  I  had  known  from  the  moment  I 
saw  him,  else  I  should  not  have  made  the  pro- 


324         Penelope  s  frisk  Experiences 

position.  I  peeped  from  behind  the  screen. 
Ronald  and  Himself  were  walking  toward  us: 
Salemina  and  Dr.  Gerald  were  sitting  together  in 
one  of  the  front  pews.  I  beckoned  to  my  hus 
band. 

"  Will  you  and  Ronald  go  quietly  out  one  oi 
the  side  doors,"  I  asked,  "  take  your  own  car,  and 
go  back  to  the  hotel,  allowing  us  to  follow  you  a 
little  later?" 

It  takes  more  than  one  year  of  marriage  foi 
even  the  cleverest  Benedict  to  uproot  those  weeds 
of  stupidity,  denseness,  and  non-comprehension 
that  seem  to  grow  so  riotously  in  the  mental  gar 
den  of  the  bachelor  ;  so,  said  Himself,  "  We  came 
all  together ;  why  should  n't  we  go  home  all  to 
gether?"  (So  like  a  man!  Always  reasoning 
from  analogy ;  always  so  to  speak,  "  lugging  in  " 
logic !) 

"  Desperate  situations  demand  desperate  reme 
dies,"  I  replied  mysteriously,  though  I  hope 
patiently.  "  If  you  go  home  at  once  without  any 
questions,  you  will  be  virtuous,  and  it  is  more 
than  likely  that  you  will  also  be  happy ;  and  if 
you  are  not,  somebody  else  will  be." 

Having  seen  the  backs  of  our  two  cavaliers 
disappearing  meekly  into  the  rain,  I  stationed 
Francesca  at  a  point  of  vantage,  and  went  out  to 
my  victims  in  the  front  pew. 

"  The  others  went  on  ahead,"  I  explained, 
with  elaborate  carelessness,  —  "  they  wanted  tc 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences         325 

drive  by  Dublin  Castle  ;  and  we  are  going  to  fol 
low  as  we  like.  For  my  part,  I  am  tired,  and 
you  are  looking  pale,  Salemina  ;  I  am  sure  your 
ankle  is  painful.  Help  her,  Dr.  Gerald,  please  ; 
she  is  so  proud  and  self-reliant  that  she  won't 
even  lean  on  any  one's  arm,  if  she  can  avoid  it. 
Take  her  down  the  middle  aisle,  for  I  Ve  sent 
your  car  to  that  door,"  (this  was  the  last  of  a 
series  of  happy  thoughts  on  my  part).  "  I  '11  go 
and  tell  Francesca,  who  is  flirting  with  the  organist. 
She  has  an  appointment  at  the  tailor's ;  so  I  will 
drop  her  there,  and  join  you  at  the  hotel  in  a  few 
minutes." 

The  refractory  pair  of  innocent  middle-aged 
lovers  started,  arm  in  arm,  on  what  I  ardently 
hoped  would  be  an  eventful  walk  together.  It 
was  from  instead  of  toward  the  altar,  to  be  sure, 
but  I  was  certain  it  would  finally  lead  them  to 
it,  notwithstanding  the  unusual  method  of  ap 
proach.  I  gave  Francesca  the  signal,  and  then, 
disappearing  behind  the  screen,  I  held,  her  hand 
in  a  palpitation  of  nervous  apprehension  that  I 
had  scarcely  felt  when  Himself  first  asked  me  to 
be  his. 

The  young  organist,  blushing  to  the  roots  of 
his  hair,  trembling  with  responsibility,  smiling  at 
the  humor  of  the  thing,  pulled  out  all  the  stops, 
and  the  Wedding  March  pealed  through  the  ca 
thedral,  the  splendid  joy  and  swing  and  triumph 


326         Penelope  s  frisk  Experiences 

of  it  echoing  through  the  vaulted  aisles  in  a  way 
that  positively  incited  one  to  bigamy. 

"  We  may  regard  the  matter  as  settled  now," 
whispered  Francesca  comfortably.  "  Anybody 
would  ask  anybody  else  to  marry  him,  whether  he 
was  in  love  with  her  or  not.  If  it  were  n't  so 
beautiful  and  so  touching,  would  n't  it  be  amus 
ing?  Isn't  the  organist  a  darling,  and  doesn't 
he  enter  into  the  spirit  of  it  ?  See  him  shaking 
with  sympathetic  laughter,  and  yet  he  never  lets 
a  smile  creep  into  the  music  ;  it  is  all  earnestness 
and  majesty.  May  I  peep  now  and  see  how  they 
are  getting  on  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not !  What  are  you  thinking  of, 
Francesca  ?  Our  only  justification  in  this  whole 
matter  is  that  we  are  absolutely  serious  about  it. 
We  shall  say  good-by  to  the  organist,  wring  his 
hand  gratefully,  and  steal  with  him  out  of  the 
little  door.  Then  in  a  half  hour  we  shall  know 
the  worst  or  the  best ;  and  we  must  remember  to 
send  him  cards  and  a  marked  copy  of  the  news 
paper  containing  the  marriage  notice." 

Salemina  told  me  all  about  it  that  night,  but 
she  never  suspected  the  interference  of  any  deus 
ex  machina  save  that  of  the  traditional  God  of 
Love,  who,  it  seems  to  me,  has  not  kept  up  with 
the  requirements  of  the  age  in  all  respects,  and 
leaves  a  good  deal  for  us  women  to  do  nowa 
days. 

"  Would  that  you  had  come  up  this  aisle  to 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences         327 

meet  me,  Salemina,  and  that  you  were  walking 
down  again  as  my  wife  !  "  This  was  what  Dr. 
Gerald  had  surprised  her  by  saying,  when  the 
wedding  music  had  finally  entered  into  his  soul, 
driving  away  for  the  moment  his  doubt  and  fear 
and  self-distrust ;  and  I  can  well  believe  that  the 
hopelessness  of  his  tone  stirred  her  tender  heart 
to  its  very  depths. 

"  What  did  you  answer  ?  "  I  asked  breathlessly, 
on  the  impulse  of  the  moment. 

We  were  talking  by  the  light  of  a  single  candle. 
Salemina  turned  her  head  a  little  aside,  but  there 
was  a  look  on  her  face  that  repaid  me  for  all  my 
labor  and  anxiety,  a  look  in  which  her  forty  years 
melted  away  and  became  as  twenty,  a  look  that 
was  the  outward  and  visible  expression  of  the  in 
ward  and  spiritual  youth  that  has  always  been 
hers  ;  then  she  replied  simply  :  — 

"  I  told  him  what  is  true  :  that  my  life  had  been 
one  long  coming  to  meet  him,  and  that  I  was 
quite  ready  to  walk  with  him  to  the  end  of  the 
world." 

I  left  her  to  her  thoughts,  which  I  well  knew 
were  more  precious  than  my  words,  and  went 
across  the  hall,  where  Benella  was  packing  Fran- 
cesca's  last  purchases.  Ordinarily  one  of  us 
manages  to  superintend  such  operations,  as  the 
Derelict's  principal  aim  is  to  make  two  gar 
ments  go  where  only  one  went  before.  Nature  in 


328         Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences 

her  wildest  moments  never  abhorred  a  vacuum  in 
her  dominion  as  Miss  Dusenberry  resents  it  in  a 
trunk. 

"  Benella,"  I  said,  in  that  mysterious  whisper 
which  one  uses  for  such  communications,  "  Dr. 
La  Touche  has  asked  Miss  Peabody  to  marry  him 
and  she  has  consented." 

"  It  was  full  time  !  "  the  Derelict  responded, 
with  a  deep  sigh  of  relief,  "  but  better  late  than 
never !  Men  folks  are  so  queer  I  don't  hardly 
know  how  a  merciful  Providence  ever  came  to 
invent  'em  !  Either  they  're  so  bold  they  'd  pro 
pose  to  the  Queen  o'  Sheba  without  mindin'  it  a 
mite,  or  else  they  're  such  scare-cats  you  'bout 
have  to  ask  'em  yourself,  and  then  lug  'em  to  the 
minister's  afterwards,  —  there  don't  seem  to  be 
no  halfway  with  'em.  Well,  I  'm  glad  you  're 
all  settled ;  it  must  be  nice  to  have  folks  !  " 

It  was  a  pathetic  little  phrase,  and  I  fancied  I 
detected  a  tear  in  her  usually  cheerful  and  de 
cided  voice.  Acting  on  the  suspicion  I  said  hur 
riedly,  "  You  have  already  had  a  share  of  Miss 
Monroe's  'folks'  and  mine  offered  you,  and  now 
Miss  Peabody  will  be  sure  to  add  hers  to  the 
number.  Your  only  difficulty  will  be  to  attend 
to  them  all  impartially  and  keep  them  from  quar 
reling  as  to  which  shall  have  you  next." 

She  brightened  visibly.  "Yes,"  she  assented, 
without  any  superfluous  modesty,  —  squeezing  as 
she  spoke  a  pair  of  bronze  slippers  into  the  crown 


Penelope  s  Irish  Experiences         329 

of  Francesca's  favorite  hat,  —  "yes,  that  part  '11 
be  hard  on  all  of  us  ;  but  I  want  you  to  know  that 
I  belong  to  you  this  winter,  anyway ;  Miss  Pea- 
body  can  get  along  without  me  better  'n  you 
can." 

Her  glance  was  freighted  with  a  kind  of  eva 
sive,  half-embarrassed  affection ;  shy,  unobtru 
sive,  respectful  it  was,  but  altogether  friendly  and 
helpful. 

That  the  relations  between  us  have  ever  quite 
been  those  of  mistress  and  maid,  I  cannot  affirm. 
We  have  tried  to  persuade  ourselves  that  they 
were  at  least  an  imitation  of  the  proper  thing, 
just  to  maintain  our  self-respect  while  traveling 
in  a  country  of  monarchical  institutions,  but  we 
have  always  tacitly  understood  the  real  situation 
and  accepted  its  piquant  incongruities. 

So  when  I  met  Benella  Dusenberry's  wistful 
sympathetic  eye,  my  republican  head,  reckless  of 
British  conventions,  found  the  maternal  hollow 
in  her  spinster  shoulder  as  I  said,  "  Dear  old 
Derelict !  it  was  a  good  day  for  us  when  you 
drifted  into  our  harbor !  " 


Electrotyped  and  printed  by  H.  O.  Houghton  <5r»  Co. 
Cambridge,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


37048 


ft 

p 


sfe  ..- 


